Episode 24, VS7.5 - Hero for the Times
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Voyager establishes direct contact with Starfleet, and gets an escort through an inhabited sector of space


Voyager Virtual Season 7.5  
  
Hero for the Times  
  
by Julie  
  
Prologue:  
  
"Personal log, Stardate 55559.1, EMH reporting.  
  
"Last night Mister Neelix threw his official 'Welcome to the  
Alpha Quadrant' party to celebrate the fact that Voyager crossed  
into the Alpha quadrant during our last jump. That was due to  
Lieutenant Carey's improvements on the slipstream technology that  
allowed the ship to remain in the slipstream for three thousand  
light years instead of a mere one thousand. Though the quadrant  
divisions are arbitrary, and we are still some distance from  
Federation space, simply being in Alpha quadrant has cheered the  
crew considerably. I share in their elation, but it was the  
captain's announcement last night that elicited my greatest  
gratification. After several failed attempts to establish direct  
contact between Voyager and Starfleet, Lieutenant Torres and the  
estimable Lieutenant Barclay have finally overcome the problem  
with the slipstream displacement effect. The method of contact  
involves a phased tachyon beam tapping into a quantum  
singularity's faster-than-light transference effect...well, what  
it really means is that I can finally talk directly with my  
publisher and finalize a contract to publish of my holonovel.  
  
"This development does leave me limited time to add the final  
polish to 'Hero for the Times,' though I must admit with all  
modesty that there is little room for improvement. Due to several  
requests I've also scheduled a premiere of my holonovel for  
tomorrow night. I suppose the crew does deserve to see my work  
before the general public, if only to be able to say they knew me  
when.  
  
"In the meantime, I have acquiesced to Lieutenant Paris's  
suggestion that he act as my 'beta' and give me his opinion of  
'Hero for the Times' before I unveil it to the crew. My holonovel  
is intended to appeal to the broadest cross section of the  
general public, and I suppose no one has more understanding of  
common tastes than Lieutenant Paris. Given his past holoadventure  
forays, I expect he will have nothing but praise for my creation.  
  
"End log."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Smoke from the mangled consoles filled the bridge of the battered  
starship. The captain pulled herself up from the deck and pushed  
away the strands of hair that had escaped from her top bun. She  
reached through the haze for the comm pad on her chair, her  
fingers stretching to make contact.  
  
"ECH to the bridge! Emergency! ECH to the bridge!" the captain  
rasped.  
  
Another hit rocked the ship and the captain was thrown against  
the helm console, but her desperate plea was answered as moments  
later the turbolift opened and the Emergency Command Hologram  
exited. He strode confidently to the captain's chair, stepping  
over the moaning form of the Ops officer, unfazed by the smoke  
and debris around him.  
  
"Helm, execute maneuver Alpha Beta Delta Phi Epsilon Tau Omega  
Four Dash Two Six Eight One," The ECH ordered as he began to  
press pads on the captain's console.  
  
"Yes, sir," the helm officer replied as he flipped an errant lock  
of hair back from his sweaty, smoke-streaked forehead.  
  
"Tactical, prepare to fire on my order."  
  
"Aye," the tactical officer rumbled, his hands moving rapidly  
over his console.  
  
"Get ready...FIRE!"  
  
The USS Valorous executed a sharp turn as the phaser banks fired,  
and the large, black, pyramid-shaped ship that had been pounding  
the Valorous exploded into an even larger ball of fire and  
debris. The Valorous rocked in the shock wake of the other ship  
for several moments before everything stilled again. As the haze  
began to clear on the bridge, various crewmembers picked  
themselves up from the deck. Helmsman Don London brushed his  
mussed blond hair into a semblance of order, and touched a small  
cut on his forehead as he retook his seat. Tactical officer  
T'Ubark growled as he stood, baring his sharp Klingon teeth and  
ignoring his dislocated right shoulder. Captain Fayray helped Ops  
officer Derry Whim to his feet.  
  
"Are you all right?" the captain asked as Whim swayed alarmingly.  
  
"Fine, Captain," Whim murmured as he staggered back to his  
console, wiping the blood from his face so that his spots were  
again visible.  
  
"Derry's symbiont has been through much worse in its past eight  
lives," London said, flashing Whim a wicked grin.  
  
The captain approached the command chair. "ECH, once again you've  
saved the day."  
  
The ECH vacated the command chair gracefully. "Thank you,  
Captain." He held out his hand, but Captain Fayray grabbed him in  
a motherly hug.  
  
"That was a great maneuver, sir," London said with admiration.  
  
"You have the heart of a true warrior," T'Ubark rumbled.  
  
"Indeed," the captain agreed fervently. "Who knew having a  
holographic officer onboard would be so critical to our survival,  
and the survival of the Great Galactic Confederation? You're a  
hero like no kind ever before. What would we do without you?"  
  
"Perish?" the ECH suggested as Fayray finally released him and  
took her command chair.  
  
"Captain?"  
  
Fayray turned to her Bolian first officer, Shocklattee, who was  
looking at her with an expectant expression.  
  
"Oh, yes." The captain turned her gaze to the viewscreen. Then  
she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration. "I  
sense...no more anger, hatred, or intent to destroy. I sense  
only...nothingness."  
  
"No kidding," London muttered. "They're dead."  
  
Captain Fayray patted Shocklattee's shoulder. "Thank you as  
always for your silent support, Number One."  
  
"I protested this mission," Shocklattee reminded her.  
  
"Right. Well, it doesn't matter since we have the ECH." She  
flashed the ECH a blinding smile. The turbolift opened again, and  
a small figure burst out. "Ah, Lieutenant Mors," the captain  
said. "How are the engines?"  
  
"Lieutenant Mors-Whim," the chief engineer reminded her. "And you  
should know how the engines are doing, Captain."  
  
"Of course." The captain closed her eyes again. "They  
are...purring with contentment."  
  
"Thanks to the EEH." Mors-Whim Alana walked toward the Ops  
station. "He stopped that warp core breach two days ago, and his  
reconfiguration of the warp matrix is the reason they survived  
this latest encounter with the Dork with no serious damage."  
  
"Hey, Alana," Derry Whim said, tweaking her earring as she  
stopped next to him. They kissed quickly.  
  
Though Captain Fayray smiled indulgently, T'Ubark gave them a  
look of disgust. "Romance does not belong on a starship bridge."  
  
"Oh, chill out, T'Ubark," London said, earning a scowl from the  
Klingon.  
  
//Sickbay to EMH.//  
  
The ECH exchanged looks with the captain. "Onscreen."  
  
A statuesque and completely bald woman appeared on the  
viewscreen. Her expression was serene. "There are several injured  
crewmen in Sickbay requiring treatment."  
  
"Life-threatening injuries?" the ECH asked.  
  
"No. It is merely an assortment of broken bones and superficial  
wounds. However, I do need your attention regarding  
another...urgent matter."  
  
"An...urgent matter. Of course." The ECH winked at her. "I'll be  
right there."  
  
The viewscreen cleared and the ECH turned to the Fayray. "I must  
get to Sickbay immediately, Captain. Debin urgently requires my  
presence."  
  
The ECH flickered and a moment later his command gold uniform  
changed into medical blue. He strode to the turbolift, then  
halted as the applause sounded behind him. The EMH turned and  
raised a hand in acknowledgment. Then he stepped into the  
turbolift and the door closed on his benevolent, smiling face.  
  
"So ends this thrilling adventure of the Universal Starship  
Valorous and the amazing exploits of its hologram turned hero," a  
voice-over announced.  
  
"Computer, freeze program."  
  
The scene froze as requested, and Voyager's doctor turned to Tom  
Paris. "That's it. What did you think?"  
  
Tom looked at the motionless figures on the simulated bridge.  
Then he met the doctor's expectant gaze. "It was  
definitely...eventful."  
  
The doctor smiled broadly. "Yes, it is quite rousing, isn't it?  
Bold, adventurous, yet with a certain amount of insight. The  
characters are well drawn, don't you think? And the hero is  
especially engaging."  
  
"If you do say so yourself?" Tom asked dryly. "Doc, have you  
noticed that these 'fictional' characters of yours bear a strong  
resemblance to Voyager's crew?"  
  
"You think so?"  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. "The heroic hologram looks exactly like  
you."  
  
The doctor shrugged. "I do admit, there are some resemblances."  
  
"Some?!"  
  
The doctor continued as if he hadn't heard Tom's incredulous  
rejoinder, "You're aware of that old adage--write what you know.  
I did draw upon my own experiences, but this crew isn't really  
similar to Voyager's crew. The captain is a Betazoid, and the  
first officer is a Bolian--"  
  
Tom snorted. "So the captain reads minds, and Chakotay is blue."  
Even Tuvok was recognizable under that Klingon forehead. He had  
to admit B'Elanna looked cute with those wrinkles on her nose,  
but that wasn't the point. "They *look* like the real crew. Then  
there are the names. Don London, for instance. Even if the name  
takeoff wasn't obvious, he could be my twin."  
  
The doctor studied the frozen helmsman, then shook his head. "His  
hair is longer, and blonder. He also has more of it."  
  
Tom frowned. "Don London" might wear his hair longer, and  
blonder--a bottle job from the looks of it--but he certainly  
didn't have more of it. "I noticed he also has a tendency to make  
irreverent comments."  
  
"True," the doctor agreed unexpectedly. "But he's actually  
funny."  
  
Tom glared at the doctor's smug smile. "The point is--"  
  
"That he's not like you. For one thing he's not married. He's  
quite the ladies' man in fact, with a woman in every port."  
  
As if he hadn't had that reputation in the past. Tom shook his  
head. "Doc--"  
  
"And in my holonovel the chief engineer chose to marry the ops  
officer."  
  
Tom followed the doctor's gaze. Mors-Whim Alana was practically  
wrapped around Derry Whim, their lips millimeters apart. The  
sight annoyed him. "B'Elanna would never use a hyphenated name--"  
  
"Ah, but that's just it!" the doctor said triumphantly. "She's  
not B'Elanna. These people *aren't* the Voyager crew. Any  
resemblance is only coincidental."  
  
Tom decided to try a different tack. "Fine. Maybe you're right,  
Doc."  
  
The doctor's eyebrows rose at Tom's acquiescence. "I'm glad you  
see my point."  
  
"I do. In your holonovel the emergency hologram does every job on  
the ship better than the highly trained crew, while they all sit  
helplessly, waiting for him to save the ship with his  
unbelievable range of talents. How ludicrous is that?" Tom  
clapped the doctor companionably on the shoulder. "It *is*  
complete fiction, and a comedy to boot."  
  
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "You might recall that I have saved  
this ship a time or two, including while I was in command. As I  
have proved quite frequently, holograms are beings of immense  
versatility."  
  
"Not to mention immense egos," Tom said. Before the doctor could  
reply, he added, "It might make more sense to have a crew with  
some expertise, instead of a bunch of bubbleheads."  
  
"Bubbleheads?" the doctor repeated Tom's unfamiliar phrase. "I've  
portrayed the Valorous crew as merely mediocre, to give the  
emergency hologram the opportunity to display his best qualities.  
Which, I must point out, is a common fictional technique. In  
fact, it's the classic presentation of a superhero. Consider  
Earth's Superman, or Bajor's Katu San, or, dare I mention your  
favorite, Captain Proton."  
  
Damn. He should have seen that coming. Still, it wasn't the same  
thing. Captain Proton was a private role-playing holoadventure,  
not a holonovel for mass consumption. "Maybe," Tom conceded. "But  
Captain Proton bears no resemblance to reality. The similarities  
in your novel are obvious, and I doubt the crew will see it as  
flattery."  
  
"I suspect the crew will understand the concept of creative  
license."  
  
Tom wasn't so sure. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow night at  
your premiere."  
  
"Yes we will," the doctor agreed heartily. "In the meantime, I  
have a few minor details to refine. Now that we'll have face to  
face contact with the Alpha quadrant, my publisher will be eager  
to see the finished product. Despite your criticism, I would like  
to solicit your opinion on one last matter, Mister Paris. What do  
you think of my holonovel's marketability?"  
  
Tom started to make a snide comment, but the doctor was looking  
at him intently, obviously deferring to his greater experience, a  
rare occurrence. Tom looked again at the scene before him.  
Despite similarities the Voyager crew might find unflattering,  
the implausibly narrow escapes, campy villains, and often  
overblown dialogue, the holonovel escaped the surest death stroke  
of any story. It wasn't boring. In fact it was fast-paced, and  
funny, if sometimes unintentionally. It was also filled with  
larger than life, if derivative, characters, like the brain-  
sucking Dork.  
  
The public would eat it up.  
  
Tom sighed, and spoke the truth. "I predict a bestseller."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Act One:  
  
Janeway looked around at her assembled officers after the final  
briefing report had been read. They'd been attentive, as  
attentive as they could be considering the news that had been  
announced last night. She put them out of their suspense.  
"Regarding the faster-than-light communication..."  
  
Everyone smiled, though none so broadly as Harry Kim.  
  
"Captain, the singularity we're using to direct the tachyon beam  
will allow us to remain in direct contact for twenty-three point  
four minutes a day," B'Elanna said.  
  
"That's all?" Harry asked, sounding a little disappointed.  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "That's actually a large amount of time. If we  
were still in the Delta quadrant the transmission window might be  
as short as seven or eight minutes."  
  
"We'll happily take whatever we can get," Janeway said. "Now, for  
the specifics...four crewmembers per day will be given five  
minutes of direct communication with their families, and the  
final three plus minutes will be used for official briefings with  
Starfleet. The computer has randomly assigned numbers one through  
one hundred forty-three to each member of the crew, and that will  
be the order in which you'll talk to your families. Your numbers  
will be posted to your Personal Message file at sixteen hundred  
hours. Commander, if you can make that announcement to the rest  
of the crew?"  
  
Chakotay answered, "Yes, Captain."  
  
"We'll be home in a couple of months. This FTL communication is a  
little superfluous."  
  
Harry gave his best friend a horrified look. "Bite your tongue,  
Tom!"  
  
"We cannot be certain that the rest of our journey will be  
without incident, Mister Paris. It is possible our arrival will  
be unexpectedly delayed."  
  
Harry switched his annoyed look from Tom to Tuvok.  
  
"I think we are all eager to talk to our loved ones, regardless."  
Janeway smiled. "After almost eight years I know I am. Now, if  
there are no other matters--"  
  
"Captain, our supply of fresh foodstuffs remains at marginal  
level. At this moment the replicators are at full power; however,  
once we use the slipsteam again they will be unavailable for  
several days. If we are unable to resupply in the next few days,  
it may be necessary to implement rationing before we re-enter the  
slipstream."  
  
The captain nodded at Tuvok's observation. Targeting their exit  
from the slipstream in sparsely populated areas of space when  
possible was a necessary security precaution to avoid potential  
conflicts when the ship's systems--including defense systems--  
were temporarily compromised. It did, however, tend to limit  
their access to supplies. During the last period between jumps  
they hadn't found a single class M planet where they might  
resupply, let alone any trading outposts or other ships. "I will  
consider that proposal, Tuvok," Janeway said. "If there are no  
further--"  
  
"Actually, Captain, I did want to remind everyone that the  
premiere of my holonovel is tomorrow night."  
  
Since the doctor had mentioned it several times this past week,  
Janeway doubted anyone had forgotten. She knew the doctor had  
been feverishly working on his holonovel ever since B'Elanna had  
announced the imminent success of the FTL project. "I'm sure none  
of us will miss it, Doctor," she said. There was a general, if  
not exactly enthusiastic, murmur of agreement.  
  
"You are all in for a very memorable experience," the doctor  
assured them.  
  
B'Elanna rolled her eyes, and Tom looked anywhere but at the rest  
of the senior officers. Janeway recalled that Tom had mentioned  
something about giving the doctor feedback. She wondered if Tom  
had already seen it--  
  
"I have a brief announcement too."  
  
Janeway looked at Chakotay, startled. He hadn't said anything to  
her.  
  
"Beginning this evening at seventeen-hundred hours the carpets  
will be cleaned."  
  
Janeway's mouth dropped slightly open, and everyone else stared  
at Chakotay.  
  
"*All* of them?" Tom finally asked.  
  
"All of them," Chakotay replied. "I've worked out a schedule on  
the computer to ensure that the cleaning will be as unintrusive  
as possible. Crew quarters will be cleaned while the occupant or  
occupants are on duty. I'll make a shipwide announcement to that  
effect, and remind everyone to remove any clothing or small items  
you don't want sucked into oblivion from the floors."  
  
"How long is this going to take?" B'Elanna asked.  
  
"Three days," Chakotay said. "The cleaning schedule is filed in  
the general bulletin board if you want to view it. I've put  
Ensign Ehsani from Services in charge of monitoring the process.  
You can contact him or myself if you have any concerns or  
questions."  
  
No one spoke for several seconds until Janeway finally said,  
"Dismissed."  
  
"I have a question," Harry said to Tom and B'Elanna as they moved  
to the door. "Why now, after seven years, and when we're due to  
get home in a couple of months and turn the ship over for a  
refit?"  
  
B'Elanna shrugged, and Tom replied, "Maybe the captain wants to  
give the ship a cosmetic lift before we arrive."  
  
Except the captain didn't know about it. Janeway ignored the  
momentary pang the words "turning the ship over" had given her as  
she watched the senior officers depart. All except Chakotay. She  
turned to him once the room cleared. "So, you finally decided to  
clean the carpets?"  
  
Chakotay grinned. "Better late than never, don't you think? I  
wanted to do it several months ago but we ended up on New Hope,  
and this is the first time since then that the replicators have  
been at full capacity."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I wanted to make sure it is done right, so I replicated a Dyson  
Cleanmaster Five-thousand. It's self-automated, with independent  
suction tubes to get the dirt out of every nook and corner, a  
fluid evaporator, and a molecular converter to recycle  
everything. It even has its own force field to keep anyone from  
walking on the carpet until its dry."  
  
"Sounds impressive," Janeway said. She knew nothing about carpet  
cleaners, so a Dyson whatever it was five thousand didn't mean  
anything to her. "When the job is finished, I plan to go over  
every centimeter of the ship with white gloves and I expect to  
find not a speck of dirt."  
  
Chakotay grinned at her imperious tone. "Don't worry, you won't  
find even a nano-speck."  
  
Janeway nodded, keeping her smile to herself as they walked out  
of the briefing room together. She felt Chakotay's gaze on her  
and looked quizzically at him. His expression was curious and a  
little sly.  
  
"So you have white gloves, huh?"  
  
Janeway dashed whatever use Chakotay might have in mind for a  
pair of white gloves. "It was just a figure of speech,  
Commander."  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
Eighty-seven.  
  
Harry shook his head as he walked toward the mess hall. He'd had  
such high hopes when he'd accessed his PM file, only to discover  
that he'd been assigned number eighty-seven on the FTL list. That  
meant he wouldn't get to talk to his family for three weeks.  
Heck, they'd almost be home by then.  
  
"Hey, Harry."  
  
Harry nodded to Joe Carey, who had just come around the corner,  
and was smiling broadly.  
  
"How'd you do?"  
  
"Eighty-seven," Harry said.  
  
"Sorry," Joe said sympathetically.  
  
Harry shrugged. "How'd you do?"  
  
"Number six."  
  
"That's great, Joe," Harry said, and he meant it. Joe had been  
away from his wife and kids for over seven years. No one deserved  
the good fortune more.  
  
Joe's smile reappeared. "Thanks, Harry. I've got to get down to  
Engineering with this report. See you later. Oh, and watch out  
for the force field."  
  
Harry heard Joe's hasty warning behind him, but he was already  
turning the corner. Before he could stop he walked smack into a  
shimmering blue force field. There was no shock, just the sense  
of hitting a wall with his face, which was hardly more pleasant.  
Harry uttered an oath and stepped back, disconcerted for a moment  
at having his way so unexpectedly blocked. Then he saw the large  
green carpet cleaner in the middle of the field.  
  
Harry scowled at machine as it plugged along silently, with  
several of its suction tubes moving along the baseboard like arms  
on an octopus. One would think a corridor traveled as heavily as  
this one would be scheduled for cleaning late at night. So much  
for the carpet cleaning being virtually "unintrusive."  
  
Harry took the narrow path the machine had so generously allowed  
along the far wall. A few moments later he walked into the mess  
hall, a scowl still on his face.  
  
The place was busier than usual. It looked like most of the first  
shift had decided to eat dinner here. The captain and Commander  
Chakotay were at a table with Tuvok, and he saw Tom and B'Elanna  
at a far table with Naomi and Sam Wildman. Jenny Delaney waved to  
him from another table, and he raised a hand in return as he got  
in line behind Sue Nicoletti and Amanda Lang.  
  
"Thirty-six isn't too bad," Amanda was saying as she accepted a  
steaming bowl from Neelix.  
  
"Not at all," Sue agreed. She noticed Harry behind them. "What  
number did you get, Harry?"  
  
"Eighty-seven."  
  
"That's two ahead of me," Sue said as she took her bowl. "I guess  
we'll be talking to our families on the same day."  
  
Harry nodded and watched Sue and Amanda walked away.  
  
"I'd trade with you, Harry, but my number is one hundred-twelve."  
  
Harry turned as Neelix handed him a bowl of some sort of meat and  
tuber stew. He decided not to ask. "That's okay, Neelix. Who are  
you going to talk to?"  
  
"I've received a couple of letters from entrepreneurs who are  
interested in helping me open a restaurant when we get back. I  
guess word of my culinary skills has reached the Alpha quadrant."  
  
Neelix was beaming. Harry just muttered a noncommittal, "Uh huh."  
  
"I've decided to talk to one of them and discuss terms."  
  
"Good luck with that, Neelix."  
  
"Thank you, Harry. Enjoy your dinner. Good evening, Ensign  
Vorik."  
  
Harry moved out of the way so Neelix could serve his next  
customer. He looked up and saw Tom waving a hand, motioning him  
over.  
  
"Hi, Harry," B'Elanna said as he approached. "Have a seat."  
  
Harry sat down next to Naomi, who was holding Miral on her lap.  
Miral was playing with a plastic spoon and chattering to herself.  
  
"So what number did you get?"  
  
Harry frowned at Tom. "Is that all anyone's going to talk about  
now? The captain should have posted the list on the public  
bulletin board so everyone could satisfy their curiosity."  
  
"Geez, sorrrry," Tom said, holding up his hands in surrender.  
"You don't have to answer."  
  
"Eighty-seven."  
  
"That's not so bad," Naomi said. "My mom got number one hundred,  
and I got one twenty-six."  
  
"I got ninety-one," B'Elanna said.  
  
Harry looked at Tom, who didn't jump to volunteer his number.  
"What about you, Tom?"  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Ten?" Harry echoed. Tom didn't even look excited about it.  
"Congratulations."  
  
Tom didn't seem to notice Harry's surly tone. B'Elanna, however,  
gave him a sharp look.  
  
"Just think, you get to talk to your family in three weeks,  
Harry," Naomi said, as if that fact was a cause for celebration.  
"I'm really excited to talk to my dad. I didn't expect to even  
get this chance until we got home. Waiting just makes the  
anticipation even better, and besides, it will give me time to  
think of all the things I want to say to him, and to ask him."  
  
Harry looked at Naomi's wide smile and shining eyes. Great.  
Shamed by a teenager.  
  
"Harry, I'll trade numbers with you."  
  
Harry stared at Tom. "You will?"  
  
"Sure. I know how much you want to talk to your parents, and they  
to you."  
  
Harry noticed Sam and Naomi looking at Tom with mild surprise.  
B'Elanna's gaze on Tom, however, was piercing and Tom avoided  
looking at her.  
  
"I'm sure your parents are just as eager to talk to you, Tom,"  
Harry said.  
  
"Probably. But, like Naomi says, waiting just makes the  
anticipation even better."  
  
"Tom--"  
  
"Really, Harry," Tom said, interrupting B'Elanna. "I don't mind  
trading at all."  
  
Harry could see he didn't. He knew Tom and his father had been  
exchanging letters, but face to face contact was something  
different. Maybe Tom had cold feet. B'Elanna's irritated look  
told Harry she was thinking the same thing.  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, Tom. Your parents want to see you, and  
to meet B'Elanna. And I know they must be dying to get their  
first look at their granddaughter. I can wait until my turn."  
  
B'Elanna gave Harry a grateful look and Tom shrugged  
nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. "Okay. I just thought I'd  
offer."  
  
"I have to get back to the biolab and check on some results." Sam  
said. She squeezed Tom's shoulder lightly as she stood, clearly  
understanding the undercurrents of the conversation. "Naomi,  
don't you have an assignment to finish?"  
  
Naomi nodded and looked regretfully at Miral, who was busy  
banging the plastic spoon on the table. Then she transferred the  
baby into B'Elanna's arms. "Bye, Mirrie," she whispered, using  
her pet name for Miral. Miral smiled at her. "Don't forget about  
tomorrow, B'Elanna."  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "I won't."  
  
"Naomi's turn to babysit," Tom informed Harry, as Sam and Naomi  
departed.  
  
Harry knew Naomi was completely taken with Miral, but who wasn't?  
He smiled at his goddaughter, who was reaching for the another  
piece of silverware. Just looking at her cherubic face was enough  
to lift the gloom from anyone's heart. Tom's parents would adore  
her.  
  
"We'd better go too, Tom. It's almost Miral's bedtime."  
  
Tom nodded and took Miral as B'Elanna asked Harry, "Are you still  
available at the end of the week?"  
  
"You bet." Harry never missed his own chance to babysit. He waved  
goodbye to his goddaughter and she waved back at him, giggling  
over her father's shoulder.  
  
Once they were gone, Harry sighed. He'd really wanted to accept  
Tom's offer, but he was glad he hadn't. Three weeks was a long  
time to wait, but he'd been waiting this long already, so what  
was another twenty-two days? It wouldn't be so bad--  
  
Harry jumped when his commbadge beeped.  
  
//Gilmore to Kim.//  
  
Harry smiled. "Hey, Marla."  
  
//I'm not interrupting your dinner, am I?//  
  
"Yeah, but around here that's usually a welcome interruption,"  
Harry joked.  
  
Marla laughed softly. Harry really liked that laugh.  
  
//I get off shift early tonight. I thought you might want to get  
together for a bit.//  
  
"Sure. What time?"  
  
//About ten?//  
  
"Okay. My quarters? If you're hungry, I can whip you up a  
replicated feast."  
  
//I just had a sandwich, but by then I might be ready for coffee  
and dessert.//  
  
Harry grinned. "Cafe latte and creme brule it is."  
  
//Mmm.// Marla nearly purred over the comm line. That was a  
favorite combination of hers, as he well knew. //I'll definitely  
be on time. See you then.//  
  
"See you," Harry echoed as she signed off, glad he wouldn't have  
a chance to sit alone brooding in his quarters tonight. It  
occurred to him that he didn't know what number Marla had drawn  
on the FTL list. She was close to her sister, and eager to see  
Kaylyn again despite whatever else she might face when they got  
home. Harry had tried to convince her that the captain would make  
everything right for all of them, but he knew Marla never quite  
believed him.  
  
Harry began to eat his stew quickly. He'd let it get cold but he  
hardly noticed; he was too eager to get back to his quarters and  
prepare for Marla's arrival. He hoped she had gotten a low  
number, so she could talk to Kaylyn soon. Maybe a heart-to-heart  
with her sister would help make the shadows that sometimes crept  
across her eyes go away.  
  
^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
A hint of jasmine? Or maybe Betazoid mist blossoms, Janeway  
thought as the turbolift closed behind her. Whatever the trace of  
scent that lingered on her bridge, she could tell the carpet  
cleaner had been here during the night. But she had other things  
to think about right now.  
  
"Report."  
  
Tuvok responded before she'd seated herself in her captain's  
chair. "Captain, we have detected a planetary system on long-  
range sensors. The fourth planet is Class M. We are still too  
distant to determine if it is inhabited."  
  
"How long will it take to get there?" Janeway asked.  
  
"Four days."  
  
They were due to attempt the slipstream again in four days. That  
would likely be delayed a day or two if they found a civilization  
willing to trade, or an uninhabited planet with edible  
vegetation. But the delay would be worth it, no question. "Keep  
monitoring the system, Tuvok. Mister Paris, alter course to  
intercept."  
  
"Aye, Captain."  
  
As Tom punched numbers at his console, Janeway sat back into her  
chair and relaxed, her hands still wrapped around the warm cup of  
coffee she'd just started to drink in the mess hall before she'd  
been summoned to the bridge. She took a long gratifying sip.  
  
"Good day so far, Captain?"  
  
Janeway smiled at Chakotay. "It's starting out that way,  
Commander. It will get better if this class M planet turns out to  
be a bread basket for us."  
  
"The crew is in a very good mood knowing they'll be talking to  
their families soon."  
  
Janeway nodded. She was very glad to see her crew so happy. They  
certainly deserved it. "It will be another four weeks before I  
talk to my family, but I'm looking forward to it."  
  
"You didn't do so well in the draw either, Captain?" Lieutenant  
Kim asked.  
  
"Ninety-nine," Janeway said. She'd already heard where her senior  
officers and most of the crew had placed in the draw. That kind  
of news traveled faster through the ship than Voyager was moving  
through space. She was happy that Tuvok had drawn a low number,  
and Tom too. She knew Harry had to be disappointed at his draw,  
but he seemed cheerful this morning in spite of it. "If nothing  
else, my high number proves that there are no extra perks for  
being captain."  
  
Chakotay grinned at her rueful comment. "Maybe I should have a  
talk with the computer about that."  
  
Janeway chuckled. "Yes, maybe you should."  
  
"I'll trade numbers with you, Captain."  
  
Startled, Janeway looked at Tom. His expression was earnest.  
"Lieutenant Paris, are you trying to score extra points with me?"  
she asked, her tone sharp.  
  
Tom looked confused for a moment, then he smirked. "Yeah, I'm  
hoping for a pay raise."  
  
"No go, Lieutenant," Janeway replied dryly. She been kidding, of  
course. For all his brashness and occasional irreverence, Tom  
wasn't a bootlicker. "You'll have to make do with the same  
rations as everyone else." Then she said more seriously, "I am  
anxious to talk to my mother and sister, but no more anxious than  
you must be to talk to your family."  
  
Tom shrugged. "We've been writing back and forth for a year now.  
We'll see each other in a couple of months if all goes well, so  
this really isn't any big deal."  
  
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Janeway said. She knew how eager Admiral  
Paris was to meet his daughter-in-law and see his new  
granddaughter. But he was even more eager to see his son again.  
"Thank you for the thought, Tom, but the draw was fair. I can  
wait." Before Tom could do anything more than nod, she added, "By  
the way, the doctor has requested your presence Sickbay today at  
thirteen hundred hours."  
  
"I thought the FTL window didn't open until fourteen-thirty."  
  
"Fourteen twenty-nine to be exact. It seems the doctor needs time  
to prepare himself."  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. "Right."  
  
"Tom, are you going to tell us what the doctor's holoprogram is  
all about?"  
  
Tom shook his head. "I'm sworn to secrecy."  
  
"Come on, Tom. Just a hint about the general plot? Is it a  
comedy? Mystery? Romance?"  
  
"Sorry, Har. You'll just have to wait and see."  
  
"A surprise can be a enjoyable thing, Lieutenant," Chakotay said  
to Harry.  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
Tom's drawled comment was low enough that Harry couldn't hear  
him, but Janeway did. She'd been a little leery about what the  
doctor might have cooked up, given his flair for the dramatic,  
but the irony in Tom's voice made her wish momentarily that she  
had somewhere else to be tonight.  
  
"Captain, a ship has just appeared on our sensors."  
  
At Tuvok's curt announcement the relaxed atmosphere on the bridge  
evaporated and everyone turned quickly to their stations.  
  
"The ship is of unknown design and origin," Harry said, to no  
one's surprise. Though they'd made it to the Alpha quadrant, they  
were still too distant from the Federation to encounter any known  
races. "It's large, about five times the size of Voyager, but the  
weapons appear to be of the standard defensive variety."  
  
"The ship's course indicates it may have originated from the  
class M planet we detected on our long-range sensors," Tuvok  
added.  
  
"It is the only planet out here," Tom noted.  
  
"Tuvok, as soon as we are in range, initiate hailing  
frequencies."  
  
"We are in range...now. However"--Tuvok looked up--"they are  
hailing us, Captain."  
  
Janeway exchanged a quick glance with her first officer. "Open a  
channel."  
  
After a moment the starfield on the front viewscreen winked out,  
replaced by the visage of two humanoid beings standing on a  
ship's bridge. They were both slender with longish faces, and  
dark hair elaborately styled in a braided fashion on top of their  
heads. Their pale skin had a slight greenish cast to it, and  
their eyes were a startlingly brilliant gold. They wore similar  
tunics with insignias on them. They both wore grim expressions,  
and the slightly shorter of the two spoke first.  
  
"I am Repaas, captain of the Maruuk, representative of the  
Shaal'ra. You are approaching our territory."  
  
"Greetings, Captain Repaas. I am Kathryn Janeway, captain of the  
Federation starship Voyager. We are returning home from a very  
far distance. We are simply passing through this area. We mean  
you no harm."  
  
"We see few visitors in our territory, Captain Kathryn Janeway."  
  
Janeway wasn't sure if he was referring to the isolated position  
of their system, or if he meant they allowed few to cross their  
territory. "We respect your boundaries, Captain Repaas. We simply  
request passage, and perhaps an exchange of supplies."  
  
"Passage is allowed under certain conditions," Repaas said.  
"However, we have specific rules about trading with other  
species."  
  
"As do we," Janeway replied. "We don't wish to interfere with  
your culture in any way. We are low on food supplies, and I would  
interested in negotiating a limited trade."  
  
Repaas' stern, almost bored expression became alert. "Do *you*  
have a trader?"  
  
Janeway supposed that label might fit Neelix. She'd willingly  
follow whatever proprieties were required to facilitate  
relations. "Yes, I do."  
  
"Perhaps we can do business, Captain Kathryn Janeway. We prefer  
to negotiate in person."  
  
"That can be arranged," Janeway said. "You are welcome to come  
aboard Voyager to discuss the terms."  
  
Repaas nodded. "That will be acceptable. At present course and  
speed we will rendezvous with your ship in...four point six  
hours. Until then, Captain Kathryn Janeway."  
  
"We look forward to"--Janeway paused as the image on the  
viewscreen blinked out--"meeting you."  
  
"Not the most friendly greeting," Tom commented.  
  
"At least they showed no hint of hostility," Chakotay said, and  
Janeway nodded in full agreement.  
  
"Captain, I will need to prepare security measures."  
  
"Very well, Tuvok." Janeway knew how seriously Tuvok took the  
presence of visitors on Voyager, but she also knew he found it  
preferable to sending a Voyager contingent to an alien ship,  
where his ability to provide security was limited.  
  
"Guess this was a good time to clean the carpets after all,"  
Chakotay said.  
  
Janeway gave her grinning first officer a stern look, though she  
couldn't keep her lips from twitching. As Tuvok left his station  
and headed for the turbolift she turned to Harry. "Lieutenant,  
keep scanning the planet. The more information we can gather  
about the Shaal'ra, the easier it will be to negotiate a trade  
agreement."  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
"Lieutenant Paris, keep the Maruuk on constant monitor status."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
Janeway didn't expect any trouble or surprises. Her instinct told  
her Captain Repaas was being sincere. But on this journey they'd  
learned to take nothing for granted.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
"Ah, Mister Paris," the doctor greeted Tom the moment he walked  
into Sickbay. "Good to see you."  
  
Tom stopped short just inside the door. Good to see you? It was  
1302 and the doctor wasn't chastising him for being late? "You  
okay, Doc?"  
  
"Certainly," the doctor replied cheerfully. "There are no  
patients at the moment, and I finished the monthly inventory this  
morning. I also filed the cross-vaccination research. Don't worry  
about the lab reports on my desk. I'll take care of those when I  
get back. You're welcome to access my music system; just keep it  
low enough so you can hear any calls that come in."  
  
No inventory to do, no reports to file--and he was welcome to use  
the doc's music system? Tom shook his head. "Doc, you *sure*  
you're okay?"  
  
The doctor didn't answer Tom's repeated question as he strode  
toward the door. "I'll be in the holodeck doing some last minute  
adjustments to my holonovel before I talk to my publisher. Oh,  
and by the way, Lieutenant, congratulations on your draw. You'll  
be talking to your family very soon. I'm happy for you."  
  
"Uh, thanks, Doc," Tom said, managing to speak in the midst of  
his astonishment. "Good luck with your publisher."  
  
The doctor smiled broadly. "Good luck is irrelevant. My work will  
speak for itself. I expect that in the near future Emerson Holmes  
will be a celebrated name in the holonovel circuit. But I won't  
forget where it all started, or my friends here on Voyager."  
  
"Glad to hear it, Doc," Tom muttered, but the doctor was already  
gone. He frowned at the closed door. Two minutes of congenial  
conversation, and not one sarcastic comment from the doctor?  
Maybe he should call B'Elanna and ask her to do a diagnostic on  
the doc's program to see if it had been altered...  
  
Nah. He should just enjoy the doctor's preoccupation with his  
dreams of holonovelist fame. Who was he to impinge on a rare good  
mood?  
  
Tom walked into the doctor's office, plopped himself down in the  
doctor's chair, and kicked his feet up on the desk. He put his  
hands behind his head and grinned. "Computer, access music  
system."  
  
//System accessed. Please specify music selection.//  
  
"Hmm..."  
  
"Lieutenant Paris."  
  
Tom shot up in the chair, knocking the doctor's lab reports askew  
as he hastily removed his feet from the desk. "Oh...hey, Icheb."  
  
"Am I disturbing you?"  
  
"Not at all," Tom said, straightening the lab reports. "What can  
I do for you? Are you ill?"  
  
Icheb shook his head. "I am well. I am returning my analysis on  
Bolian enzyme reactions to the doctor."  
  
Tom noticed the dataPADD in Icheb's hand. "Okay. You can just  
leave that on the desk. The doctor won't be back until fifteen  
hundred hours."  
  
Icheb set the PADD on the desk. "I forgot. The doctor is making  
his call home today."  
  
Tom nodded. "To his publisher, to be exact. How'd you do on that,  
Icheb?"  
  
"I drew number fifty-nine," Icheb said. "I plan to contact a  
professor in Exobiology at the Academy, Doctor Ch'Kasti. She is  
the preeminent expert in the field and I want to ascertain if my  
course of study is sufficiently challenging."  
  
Tom studied the young man in front of him. "That's commendable,  
Icheb, but wouldn't you rather talk to your adoptive family?"  
  
Icheb looked surprised, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.  
"I have already been conversing with your parents in letters."  
  
That prevarication had a familiar sound. Perhaps the kid was  
nervous about facing Admiral Paris. Tom could understand the  
feeling. His father could be intimidating. More likely, Icheb was  
hesitant about making the first move in a relationship that was  
so new to him, and unlike a relationship he'd ever had before,  
since his birth family certainly didn't count. That gave Tom an  
idea.  
  
"I suppose you heard that I drew number ten."  
  
Icheb nodded. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Paris."  
  
"Tom," the acting medical officer reminded him. He decided he  
liked his sudden inspiration a lot. He also told himself it was  
only because he wanted to include Icheb, and that diverting  
attention from himself had nothing to do with it. "Icheb, why  
don't you join B'Elanna and I when we talk to my parents?"  
  
Icheb looked startled, then discomfited. "Your time will be  
limited, and I'm sure your parents want to spend that time  
talking to you, Lieu--Tom. They haven't seen you for many years."  
  
"I'm sure they'll be happy to see me, but they are just as eager  
see my family--B'Elanna, and Miral. And you. You're part of our  
family now too."  
  
Icheb looked uncertain. "I don't want to--"  
  
"I insist," Tom said before Icheb could say something ridiculous  
like "intrude." "And I won't take no for an answer."  
  
Icheb's eyebrows rose at Tom's uncompromising tone. "You won't?"  
  
Tom's lips quirked. "No, I won't. I think my time is fourteen  
thirty-four day after tomorrow, but I'll check to be sure. I'll  
expect you to meet B'Elanna and me in front of briefing room  
then."  
  
"Very well, Tom. Since you insist."  
  
Tom grinned at the gleam in Icheb's eyes, and noticed the kid's  
shoulders had relaxed. He could really get to like this big  
brother thing.  
  
"I must go. Commander Chakotay is meeting me in the geoscience  
lab to advice me on my paleontology project."  
  
"You better go then. It wouldn't do to be late."  
  
"I am never late," Icheb said.  
  
Tom laughed. "We're definitely nothing alike. I guess that makes  
us perfect brothers."  
  
Icheb looked baffled at that reasoning, but after a moment he  
smiled, accepting Tom's assertion. "I think I will enjoy being  
brothers, Tom."  
  
Tom smiled back. "So will I, Icheb."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Janeway stood silently, her official smile of welcome pasted on  
her face. It faded just slightly as she looked at the three who  
appeared on the transporter platform. She'd expected to greet the  
captain and his officers from the Maruuk in their ship uniforms.  
One of the Shaal'ra, the only female, was wearing a black  
uniform, but the other two were wearing colorful if somewhat  
timeworn tunics and leggings, and their hair hung long, straight  
down their backs. All three were carrying duffel style bags, as  
if they expected to visit for a while.  
  
Janeway recognized the most colorfully dressed as Repaas. Though  
she was a little distracted by the clothing, she stepped forward  
to greet the other ship's captain. He jumped from the platform  
lightly and held out his arms, palms up, before she could speak.  
  
"Captain Kathryn Janeway, it is good to meet you. I respect your  
custom of greeting a mere trader such as myself. However, I would  
speak to your trader now rather than take up your valuable time."  
  
Janeway nodded. "Certainly, Captain Repaas. This is my trader,  
Neelix." She motioned and Neelix stepped forward, his own  
brightly colored clothing looking oddly in concert with that of  
the Shaal'ra.  
  
Neelix smiled broadly and started to speak, but Repaas  
interrupted him. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, I do not understand. I  
was led to believe from Captain Repaas that I would be dealing  
with *your* trader."  
  
Now Janeway was confused. She glanced at Tuvok and Sarexa.  
Sarexa's gaze was fixated on the Shaal'ra, her brow furrowed in  
concentration. "I'm sorry," Janeway addressed the Shaal'ra  
trader. "I must be mistaken. I thought you were Captain Repaas.  
You look just like him."  
  
The Shaal'ra woman in black stepped forward slightly on the  
transporter platform and spoke to the trader. "Kineet, we have  
been misled. They are like the other single-identity aliens who  
have crossed our space."  
  
Janeway's eyebrows rose at the term "single-identity." Perhaps  
the computer's universal translator couldn't translate the  
Shaal'ra term accurately. She felt a tap on her shoulder. "One  
moment if you will...Kineet."  
  
"Captain," Sarexa said quietly once Janeway had moved several  
steps away from the transporter. "I believe these are  
representatives of Species Seven Three One Seven. I have only  
very limited information on them, but they are a species whose  
brains are arranged differently than most humanoids. While most  
humanoids have a single identity, their bodies house several  
separate identities."  
  
"Captain Kathryn Janeway," Kineet said impatiently. "Do you  
possess a trader or not?"  
  
Janeway turned back to the Shaal'ra representatives. Apparently  
the universal translator was accurate. She wished they'd gotten  
enough data from the primary scans of the planet to ascertain  
this fact, but they weren't close enough yet. "If I understand  
your meaning, no. We have a number of different species onboard  
Voyager, all of whom possess only one identify."  
  
"I see. It is unfortunate Captain Repaas did not recognize your  
nature, however he is not the most discerning of captains."  
  
Janeway had a moment's surprise at Kineet's disparagement of--  
well, himself in a sense. Then the Shaal'ra woman in black  
stepped forward. "As a ship's officer, I shall take over this  
contact, Kineet."  
  
"Yes, Metaar," Kineet said, stepping back.  
  
"Captain Kathryn Janeway, there has been a miscommunication. We  
must abort this negotiation."  
  
"We did not intend to deceive you," Janeway said. "We wish  
permission to cross your space, and to trade for supplies."  
  
"We do not accuse you of deceit, nor blame you for your nature,  
Captain Kathryn Janeway," Metaar said. "However it does preclude  
us from trading with you. It is our policy to limit our  
interactions with mentally disadvantaged species."  
  
Kathryn caught Tuvok's raised eyebrow. "We are representatives of  
a far-ranging federation of...single-identity species, all quite  
advanced, as you can see from our ship." Lieutenant Kim had  
estimated the technological level of the Maruuk to be roughly  
equivalent to that of Voyager. "We do not consider ourselves  
disadvantaged. We simply use our brains differently."  
  
"Of course," Metaar said, with an edge of condescension.  
"Do you require sleep?"  
  
Sleep? "Yes. Though those of Commander Tuvok's species"--Janeway  
nodded toward her security chief--"can go many days without  
sleep."  
  
Metaar glanced at Tuvok, then back at Janeway. "Interesting, yet  
sleep is still required eventually. The necessity of sleep is a  
known trait of a more primitive neurological structure. We have  
met other species with such generalized brains. We would be  
favored during intense negotiations by our highly specialized  
abilities. It would be wrong to take unfair advantage of your  
natural limitations."  
  
Janeway bit back her frustration. She would like to learn more  
about these people, since she was unaware of another species  
where multiple identities manifested themselves in one body,  
except for those species that housed symbionts. But more than  
that, she'd hoped to refill Voyager's larder. "If you would  
reconsider--"  
  
"I regret that we cannot trade with you, Captain Kathryn Janeway.  
However, if you still wish to pass through our space, the Maruuk  
will escort your ship, and I will remain here as your Shaal'ra  
envoy."  
  
"Envoy?" Janeway asked.  
  
"It is required for travel through our space," Metaar said. "We  
must ensure that you obey our laws, but we will not interfere  
with your ship's functions."  
  
Janeway sighed. At least the Shaal'ra weren't insisting on flying  
Voyager, or demanding the crew pass a test to cross their space.  
"We accept your condition," she told Metaar. She nodded to Tuvok,  
who strode to the transporter console and initiated the beam-out  
of the other two Shaal'ra.  
  
"This is my security chief, Commander Tuvok." Janeway made the  
introduction as Kineet and his fellow trader disappeared. "He  
will assign you quarters where you can freshen up and rest. His  
department will also be overseeing your visit. You are welcome to  
tour our ship and spend time in any unrestricted areas."  
  
Metaar nodded. "Thank you, Captain Kathryn Janeway."  
  
"Just 'captain' will be fine," Janeway said. She didn't relish  
being repeatedly addressed by her full name over the next several  
days.  
  
"We appreciate your hospitality, and we will not intrude nor  
interfere in any way."  
  
Metaar's use of the pronoun "we" reminded Janeway of the obvious,  
though she was briefly startled at the realization. "I assume we  
will see other...identities during your stay?"  
  
"I share this body with three other identities. Deliin is a  
neurosurgeon, Lizaat is an artist, and Tineel is a political  
analyst. We each experience periods of submergence--consistent  
with your concept of rest--but I assure you the others will  
observe all proprieties."  
  
Neelix stepped up. "Captain, I would like to accompany Mister  
Tuvok so I can plan a suitable menu for Metaar and her  
companions."  
  
Neelix smiled at Metaar, not hiding his curiosity, nor his  
enthusiasm at the idea of learning more about the culinary ways  
of the Shaal'ra, and adding more recipes to his database.  
  
"Besides being a fine trader, Mister Neelix is also our resident  
chef," Janeway told Metaar. "He'll do his best to provide you  
with whatever suits your tastes while you're here."  
  
As Tuvok ushered them out, Neelix began peppering Metaar with  
questions about the diet and tastes of the Shaal'ra. Tuvok would  
have a hard time getting a word in edgewise, but Janeway knew  
he'd find a way.  
  
"Captain, I'm sorry I didn't recall anything about this species  
earlier."  
  
Janeway shook her head. "There's no need to apologize." This far  
from Borg space, she'd expected Sarexa might not know anything  
about them at all. "You cued me in at the critical moment."  
  
"The Borg only encountered them once, on a ship more than a  
thousand light years from their home planet. They were a  
difficult species to assimilate because of their unique brain  
structure. Had their planet ever been reached by the Borg armada,  
most would have been killed."  
  
For a moment Janeway envisioned that frustrating hindrance to  
Borg efficiency, having to confront one identity after another  
before the assimilation was complete. Her spurt of satisfaction  
faded at the realization that Sarexa was right. The Borg would  
have chosen the more expedient course. She was glad the Borg  
front line had never made it this far.  
  
"The Shaal'ra possess technology roughly equivalent to that of  
the Federation. Their military capabilities are adequate, though  
they have little interest in conquest or empire-building. They  
prefer to pour most of their resources into science and the arts.  
That is all I recall about them."  
  
"That's more than enough, Sarexa," Janeway assured her as they  
exited the transporter room. "We have an opportunity to expand on  
your knowledge. Hopefully, we'll know more about them by the time  
we've crossed their space."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Act Two:  
  
Harry Kim made another adjustment at the briefing room console.  
The viewscreen flashed with momentary static, then the picture  
cleared. "Okay, all set. If you have any questions or problems,  
Doctor, I'll be waiting outside."  
  
The doctor spared a quick glance at Kim. "I'm sure I'll be fine,  
Lieutenant." Then his attention was focused curiously on the  
portly man who appeared on the screen in front of him. "Ah,  
Benson D'Williger, I assume?"  
  
"Of course," the silver-haired man answered. His eyes narrowed in  
his round face. "*You're* Emerson Holmes?"  
  
The doctor nodded, smiling broadly. "As I mentioned before, it's  
a pseudonym, though a catchy one don't you think? It's a  
combination of my favorite poet and one of Earth's great literary  
characters."  
  
"I recognize the sources," Benson D'Williger said. "But I  
expected--you're the doctor, aren't you?"  
  
"That is my primary profession," the doctor replied. "Though I  
have many other talents."  
  
"But...the doctor is a hologram."  
  
D'Williger's voice was perplexed, and the doctor wondered if the  
man was dense, or if he never left his office. Perhaps he should  
have chosen one of the other publishers, but it was too late now.  
"That's correct, Mister D'Williger. I'm sure my image has  
surfaced frequently in the Alpha quadrant. I'm surprised you've  
missed it."  
  
"I've seen it," D'Williger said. "I've seen images of all of you,  
and I've spent the past few months wondering just who on Voyager  
was using the pseudonym 'Emerson Holmes.' My best guess was  
Lieutenant Paris--"  
  
"Lieutenant Paris!" the doctor scoffed. "Believe me, his creative  
reputation is vastly inflated."  
  
"In any case, this is a problem. You shouldn't have hidden your  
identity!"  
  
The doctor frowned. That sounded almost like an accusation. "I  
didn't! I signed my letters--" he paused. Starscape Galactic  
Adventures had been among the second group of holographic  
publishing houses to which he'd sent inquiry letters. By then  
he'd finally decided on his pseudonym, and had used it as his  
signature, since it seemed much more fitting for a holonovelist  
than "Emergency Medical Hologram."  
  
"You didn't tell me you were a hologram," D'Williger said, his  
voice angry now.  
  
"It was an oversight, I assure you. Besides, why--"  
  
"An oversight? Are you sure you didn't use a pseudonym to hide  
your true nature?"  
  
The doctor bristled. That definitely was an accusation. "Of  
course not! It was purely for dramatic effect. I did nothing  
irregular. Many novelists use pseudonyms."  
  
"Real novelists," D'Williger corrected sharply.  
  
"I *am* a real novelist," the doctor protested. "I assure you 'A  
Hero for the Times' is completely my own work, if that is your  
concern."  
  
"That doesn't really matter. You're a hologram, not a person. You  
can't sign a contract."  
  
"Can't sign a contract--that's ridiculous! I assure you I am not  
your average hologram, Mister D'Williger. My programming is  
extremely sophisticated and I am more than capable of signing a  
simple contract!"  
  
"Whether you've gone beyond your programming limitations is of no  
interest to me. Federation law says you can't sign a contract,  
and I can't say I disagree." D'Williger shook his head and his  
lips curled. "It wasn't bad enough an android wanted to be  
sentient, now we have holograms that don't know their place."  
  
The doctor seethed, but he managed to hold his temper. "I've  
received a dozen inquiries about 'A Hero for the Times.' If you  
don't want it, that's your loss. I'll offer it to another  
publisher--"  
  
"Not much point in that, *Doctor*." D'Williger's smile was smug.  
"The law's the law. No one is going to enter into a contract with  
you. And now that I think about it, your holonovel was really not  
up to our standards. Good day."  
  
"Not--." the doctor sputtered as the screen went blank. A few  
moments later he strode out of briefing room, more stunned than  
angry. It had never occurred to him that being a hologram would  
preclude him from signing a contract. After all, he was as  
sentient as anyone on Voyager. And more sentient that that  
buffoon D'Williger. This was just another example of the kind of  
bias against photonic-based life that he'd already experienced  
numerous times--  
  
"Hey, Doctor!"  
  
The doctor stopped, meeting the curious gazes of Harry Kim and  
Mario Gennaro. "Are you finished already?" Harry asked. "You  
still have a little over a minute left."  
  
"I've finished my call, Lieutenant," the doctor said curtly. He  
looked at Gennaro, who was practically bouncing on his heels in  
anticipation. "You can start a little early with your call,  
Ensign."  
  
"Thanks, Doctor!" Gennaro said, grinning as he sprinted into  
briefing room.  
  
Harry stopped at the door. "Doc..."  
  
"It was a productive call, Mister Kim," the doctor assured the  
lieutenant, deflecting the concern in Harry's expression with a  
smile.  
  
"That's great, Doc."  
  
The doctor sighed as Harry entered briefing room. He headed for  
Sickbay, determined to look up the Federation laws pertaining to  
contracts just to verify what D'Williger had told him. Maybe  
there was a legal loophole, some fine print that would clarify  
his status. After all, there were always loopholes. Then he'd  
make a few minor changes in his holonovel before he contacted  
another publisher. The story could use another villain. Perhaps a  
malevolent species of sluglike creatures called Dewilligers...  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
"I thought you took care of that, Tom!"  
  
Tom bounced his daughter gently in one arm as he matched  
B'Elanna's breakneck pace, a testament of her temper. "B'Elanna,  
I left before you this morning to take Miral to Naomi. You were  
the last one out."  
  
B'Elanna turned to scowl at Tom. "You're the one who dressed  
Miral!"  
  
"Okay, okay," Tom capitulated, "It was my fault. It must have  
fallen out of the crib, and I didn't notice. We can always  
replicate another one."  
  
"Replicate another what?" Harry asked as he joined them.  
  
"Miral's aqua blanket," Tom said. "The one with the warp core  
design on it."  
  
"The one the engineering staff gave her?" Harry asked  
rhetorically. "What happened to it?"  
  
B'Elanna growled, "That demonic carpet cleaner sucked it up!"  
  
"Oh." Harry glanced at Miral, who was tugging at the collar of  
Tom's shirt, paying no attention the conversation going on around  
her. He chucked her lightly under the chin. "Maybe I can take  
apart the cleaner and check its recycling buffer. The molecular  
pattern might still be there--"  
  
"Forget it, Harry," B'Elanna said. She put her hand on Tom's arm.  
It really wasn't his fault neither of them had noticed the  
blanket on the floor. "Thanks, anyway. I'm sure Sue still has the  
design. But if I get my hands on that carpet cleaner..."  
  
Harry grinned. "If Big Betsy knows what's good for her, she'll  
stay out of your way."  
  
"Who's Big Betsy?" Megan Delaney asked as she approached with her  
sister, Jenny.  
  
"The carpet cleaner," Harry told Megan.  
  
"Oh. In Sciences we've been calling it the Mean Green Machine."  
  
"In Helm and Navigation it's known as Octopussy," Tom said.  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "Does every department need to have a name for  
it?" She'd figured 'pain in the ass' would be suitable enough.  
  
"Octopussy?" Jenny asked dryly. "Why do I think *you* came up  
with that one, Tom?"  
  
Tom grinned. "It's for the roving sucker arms. Plus it was the  
title of this great James Bond movie from the twentieth century,  
the one where Bond--"  
  
"There's Tuvok," Harry said quickly, saving them all from a  
detailed synopsis.  
  
Tuvok approached with the Shaal'ra envoy. When she'd been  
escorted through Engineering on a brief tour earlier she'd been  
wearing a black uniform and her hair had been pulled back in a  
severe bun. Now her hair was loose and flowing, and she was  
wearing a gauzy pink dress that B'Elanna could only think of as  
"frothy." Presumably this was a different identity.  
  
"This is Lizaat," Tuvok said, and he proceeded to introduce each  
of the gathered lieutenants in turn. B'Elanna assumed from  
Lizaat's curious gaze that didn't remember meeting most of them  
earlier as Metaar. She hadn't thought much about their visitor,  
but it occurred to her now that the identities must be completely  
separate. She wondered how or if they communicated with each  
other. She also noticed that Lizaat's gaze lingered curiously on  
Miral during the introductions.  
  
"Lizaat is an artist," Tuvok informed them. "She is interested in  
all forms of creative expression. She wished to experience the  
doctor's holonovel debut."  
  
"It is fascinating that your doctor is also artistic," Lizaat  
said in a voice softer and lower-pitched than Metaar's.  
  
"That's a matter of opinion," Harry said.  
  
Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Harry's sarcastic comment, then turned  
to Lizaat. "Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay are now  
present. They expressed a desire to meet you."  
  
The captain and Chakotay were arriving from the opposite  
direction and B'Elanna watched Tuvok and Lizaat move that way,  
Lizaat walking with a fluid grace unlike the measured steps  
Metaar had used in Engineering.  
  
"Weird," Megan murmured. "I wonder what it would be like to share  
your body with a bunch of other people."  
  
"Could you imagine changing your outfit and hairstyle that many  
times in a day?" Jenny pondered. "Bathroom privileges would be  
hell."  
  
Miral let out a small squeal at that moment, so timely that  
everyone laughed. Then Miral said clearly, "No!"  
  
"She's talking!" Jenny exclaimed.  
  
Tom smiled. "She started a couple of days ago."  
  
Jenny cooed at the baby. "Can you say 'Aunt Jenny'?"  
  
"Dada!" said Miral, tugging hard on her father's shirt.  
  
Tom beamed with pride. "Those are her only two words so far, but  
she's not even nine months old yet."  
  
"And Tom hasn't quit bragging," Harry said, grinning at Jenny and  
Megan.  
  
Megan ruffled Miral's short dark curls. "Your daddy has every  
right to brag about you, doesn't he, sweetie?"  
  
Miral smiled and chattered in incomprehensible baby talk.  
  
"Looks like the novel's about to start," Harry said, and a moment  
later they were joining the several dozen other crewmembers who  
were pouring into holodeck one.  
  
Tom, B'Elanna and Harry found three seats behind the captain and  
first officer, and Tom settled Miral on his lap. "Don't worry,  
sweetie," he whispered to her. "The doctor didn't lampoon you in  
his holonovel. Unless you're supposed to be Schweitzer, the  
hologram-loving Chihuahua who pees on everyone else's shoes."  
  
B'Elanna rolled her eyes. Tom had already given her a few hints  
about the doctor's holonovel. She knew the doctor had derived his  
characters directly from Voyager's crew. For Tom, amusement  
seemed to win over affront--though that could be because he had a  
soft spot for the doctor, even if he'd never admit it. She wasn't  
quite as forgiving as her husband. Still, she'd promised him she  
wouldn't reprogram the doctor into a pool boy at Neelix's resort.  
She just wished he'd accepted her alternate offer to rewire the  
holodeck so it would be unavailable tonight.  
  
"Last I heard Tuvok had planned to meditate this evening," Tom  
said as Tuvok and Lizaat took seats two rows in front of them.  
"He'll wish he had once he watches T'Ubark being saved by the  
Emergency Security Hologram just as his brain is about to be  
sucked dry by a Dork."  
  
B'Elanna suspected it was going to be harder than she'd thought  
to keep her temper in check. She could only hope Miral got fussy  
during the production, though she knew she probably wouldn't be  
so lucky. Miral was fascinated by activity and by people, and she  
only fussed when it was time to sleep. The doctor's appearance in  
front of the audience diverted her pessimistic thoughts.  
  
"Welcome," the doctor said, his voice surprisingly subdued.  
"Thank you for attending this presentation of my holonovel, 'A  
Hero for the Times'. Usually you would wander through the novel  
as it progresses, but tonight the presentation will be in the  
form of a stage play to accommodate the size of the audience. I  
hope you find the experience enjoyable. Computer, begin program."  
  
That was it? After all his prancing around during the past week  
promoting his holonovel as the next masterpiece of literature, he  
wasn't going to take advantage of his moment in the limelight?  
B'Elanna whispered to Tom, "What's that about?"  
  
"He was that way when he got back to Sickbay this afternoon. He  
seemed preoccupied, and he rushed me out. He didn't want to talk  
at all."  
  
B'Elanna didn't have a chance to inquire further about the  
doctor's lack of animation because the first scene opened. The  
setting was a sickbay--not Voyager's Sickbay, but clearly a  
sickbay on a starship. A man dressed in a white and green  
uniform, his face easily recognizable as Voyager's doctor despite  
the fuller head of hair with distinguished streaks of gray, moved  
from behind a large desk and began to speak. "I am the emergency  
hologram aboard the Universal Starship Valorous, defender class  
vessel of the Great Galactic Confederation. Though I address you  
now as the Emergency Medical Hologram, my function aboard the  
Valorous is multifaceted. This is my story, the story of a hero.  
Not just any hero, but a hero different from any other that has  
come before, a hero of unprecedented nature and scope. A hero for  
the times."  
  
So it began.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
"How much longer?" Janeway groaned in a low voice, right after  
Captain Fayray sensed the hostility of the Putrigen, who raided  
passing starships to steal their replicator systems. What amazing  
insight.  
  
"No idea," Chakotay whispered. His gaze was fixed on the  
unfolding saga in front of them, where the Emergency Pilot  
Hologram was expertly steering the ship away as a chain explosion  
destroyed the Putrigen ships, while barely avoiding the debris  
that spewed out in all directions.  
  
"Can you believe this?"  
  
Instead of answering her question, Chakotay chuckled as the EPH  
accepted a round of applause while Don London looked at him with  
undisguised awe, and Captain Fayray hailed his unparalleled  
ingenuity and courage.  
  
Janeway's eyes narrowed on her first officer. He was actually  
enjoying this. He didn't seem to care that his alter ego  
Shocklattee served no useful purpose at all on the Valorous  
except to disagree with everything the cloying Captain Fayray  
said.  
  
As if he felt her annoyed gaze, Chakotay fingers brushed hers.  
"Come on, you have to admit this is pretty funny."  
  
"Hmphh," Janeway muttered. Trust Chakotay to take it lightly. She  
returned her attention to the holonovel as the scene switched to  
the mess hall, where antipathy was running high.  
  
"Feedus, what is this tripe?!" the youthful Achoob demanded, as  
he knelt next to a prone Andorian girl.  
  
The Ferengi cook sneered at the young Rigellian. "Excellent  
deduction, Achoob. Your brain is good for something. It is tripe.  
The stomach of a Ferengi firebeast, to be exact."  
  
There were a chorus of groans and yucks amongst the gathered  
diners. Feedus shrugged at them all. "If you want something else,  
you'll have to pay me."  
  
A pained expression marred the blue face of the Andorian girl and  
her antennae twitched alarmingly. "Look at Meoni!" Achoob  
snapped. "She's obviously ill. You poisoned her!"  
  
"I did not poison her!" Feedus said indignantly. "It's not my  
fault her system is so delicate."  
  
"Tell that to S'Manda when she gets here," Achoob said. "She'll  
have you by the ear again. Hopefully both of them."  
  
Feedus touched his sensitive earlobes as two female Orion  
crewmembers knelt on either side of Achoob. "The EMH is on his  
way," one of them reported.  
  
"Thanks, Pagan," Achoob said gratefully.  
  
"You're welcome," Pagan replied as she rubbed Achoob's tense  
shoulder. Ninny began to expertly massage the other shoulder.  
Feedus frowned. "Hey, why don't you ever do that to my ears?"  
  
The two Orions ignored Feedus and continued their ministrations.  
  
Feedus reached into his pocket. "What if I just happen to have an  
antidote for Ferengi tripe fever? It costs a mere two hundred  
credits"--The sisters and Achoob glared at him--"or I'll accept  
an earlobe massage. *Both* earlobes."  
  
"Never mind your latest attempt at extortion, Feedus," the EMH  
said, pushing past the Ferengi, as his Chihuahua Schweitzer  
followed at his heels. "I have arrived."  
  
"Thank gods," Achoob said fervently as the EMH began examining  
his patient. Schweitzer bared his teeth at Feedus, who bared his  
teeth back. While the two tried to out-intimidate each other, the  
EMH pressed a hypo to Meoni's arm.  
  
"Yes, thank gods," Chakotay echoed, mirth in his voice. Janeway  
rolled her eyes.  
  
After a moment, Meoni's eyes fluttered open. She sat up and  
smiled warmly at the EMH. It was not a second too soon as S'Manda  
came bursting into the Mess hall, her antennae laid back against  
her head. "What happened to my little girl?!" she shrieked.  
  
Meoni stood up. "I'm fine, Mom. The EMH cured me. And I'm not a  
little girl, remember?"  
  
S'Manda turned to the EMH. "I don't know how to thank you, EMH.  
Again."  
  
"No, need for thanks, Lieutenant Wailmom," the EMH said  
cheerfully. "I'm just doing my job."  
  
"While you're here, I don't suppose you'd like to become the  
Emergency Chef Hologram for a few minutes?" Achoob asked, glaring  
at Feedus again. "We haven't had a decent meal since the Kapon  
invaders forced the replicators to mass-produce coffee so they  
could corner the market in the Delta quadrant."  
  
"I suppose I could whip up a simple soufflé du frommage to feed a  
hundred or so--"  
  
//Engineering to EEH.//  
  
"Go ahead, Lieutenant Mors-Whim."  
  
//We need you down here right away. The warp matrix is in full  
flux.//  
  
"On my way, Lieutenant."  
  
"I guess that's why you're called the 'emergency' hologram,"  
Meoni said. "There are so many of them on this ship."  
  
The EMH sighed dramatically. "Yes, my work is never done."  
  
"Too bad there aren't more of you," S'Manda lamented as the EMH  
flickered and reappeared in an engineering uniform.  
  
"It is unfortunate," the EEH agreed. "You'll just have to fend  
for yourselves here tonight," he called as he left, Schweitzer  
scampering after him.  
  
"Or eat the dinner I've already prepared," Feedus said, revealing  
his crooked teeth in a satisfied grin. "Since no one else on  
board can cook."  
  
"Doesn't Don London make a pretty decent peanut butter and jelly  
sandwich?" Meoni asked. Her fellow diners nodded in frantic  
agreement as the scene faded.  
  
"That was the halfway mark."  
  
Janeway heard Tom's low comment to B'Elanna, followed by the  
chief engineer's throaty growl as the engineering room of the  
Valorous appeared and the emergency hologram rushed in, ready to  
save the ship once more.  
  
Janeway sighed again. Only six more heroic acts of unparalleled  
ingenuity and courage to go.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
This crew of Voyager was more interesting than Lizaat had  
expected considering their single-identity nature, and their  
inferiority, confirmed by the doctor's holonovel. Though names  
and appearances had been marginally altered, his work was clearly  
autobiographical. She had been fascinated as his true nature had  
been revealed, and she was equally curious about these aliens he  
chose to live among. She would have much to relate once she could  
record her thoughts into her subdermal processor, but she wasn't  
in any great hurry to return to her quarters.  
  
Commander Tuvok had stepped a few meters away to speak with  
another security officer, leaving her to observe the crew. Though  
Tuvok had evidenced no reaction to the holonovel due to the  
unemotional nature he'd indicated of his species, others had  
reacted in a variety of ways. Moments ago the captain had called  
the holonovel ridiculous and the doctor ego-driven, while her  
first officer had referred to it as harmless and amusing. The two  
were still arguing the subject, though with no real animosity, as  
if the argument was more of an enjoyable exercise than a crucial  
disagreement.  
  
The twins she'd been introduced to earlier were among the next  
group to exit the holodeck. The one named Jenny appeared angry,  
while the other calmly comforted her twin. In that sense they  
must be like the Shaal'ra. Duplicate womb pairings did not  
produce duplicate identities.  
  
"It was insulting!" Jenny said, her steps hard on the carpet.  
  
"I thought it was kind of funny," Megan said. "Aren't you the one  
who once said it would be fun to be an Orion woman and have men  
fall at your feet?"  
  
"I wasn't serious, Megan!"  
  
"Well, it's nothing to get upset about. It was just a holonovel."  
  
"That's easy for you to say. You weren't the one named 'Ninny'!"  
  
Megan shrugged. "That's true."  
  
As the twins passed, a tall dark-haired man following behind them  
said, "I rather liked the doctor's personal assistant."  
  
The woman with him made an inelegant noise. "You would, Bristow.  
What irks me is that she still looks perfectly gorgeous even when  
she's completely bald."  
  
"I wonder how Seven would feel about the doctor making her bald?"  
a second young man asked.  
  
"Mulcahey, that wasn't Seven," Bristow replied. "That was a  
Deltan named Debin. Right, Sue?"  
  
Sue rolled her eyes. "Sure. And that wasn't me being nearly  
incinerated by the warp core implosion, that was Lu Suspagetti, a  
Coridani who happens to look just like me."  
  
"Hey, at least you weren't a Cardassian, like Freddie," Mulcahey  
said, smirking at Bristow.  
  
"Or a Romulan, like Shaun," Bristow added, smirking back at  
Mulcahey.  
  
"I think I made a splendid Romulan," Mulcahey said.  
  
"Oh, you make a real menacing Romulan, Shaun," Sue said.  
  
"Hey, if the captain can be a soft-hearted Betazoid, I can be a--  
ouch!" Mulcahey glared at Sue and rubbed his arm.  
  
Another group exited the holodeck, and Lizaat recognized them as  
others she'd been introduced to by Commander Tuvok.  
  
"All I did was constantly get hurt," Lieutenant Kim groused. "I  
spent half of the holonovel in Sickbay."  
  
"With a name like Derry Whim, what did you expect?" asked  
Lieutenant Paris. "Besides, look at my character. Don London was  
possessed by an alien tricorder and ended up in a wrestling match  
with the captain for control of the ship."  
  
"Until the ESH broke the tricorder code and you started reciting  
the ship's coordinates over and over." Lieutenant Torres grinned  
and patted her husband's arm. "Don't worry, you looked cute  
staring vacantly into space."  
  
Paris smirked. "And you looked cute trying to figure out if that  
big blue thing in the middle of Engineering was the warp core."  
  
Though that was an exaggeration, Torres' eyes narrowed menacingly  
on her husband.  
  
"At least you were only incompetent," Neelix said to her, though  
Torres didn't look mollified. "The doctor made me a Ferengi." The  
ship's cook had greeted Lizaat effusively before the holonovel  
premiere, but now he looked less than jovial. "Doesn't he know  
that Ferengi are much shorter than Talaxians?"  
  
Kim shook his head. "We're a bunch of buffoons, while the doctor,  
or EH, or whatever is perfect."  
  
"It's just a holonovel," Paris said. "You know the Doc. He's  
always feeding his ego."  
  
"At our expense," Kim complained.  
  
"Lizaat, did you enjoy the doctor's holonovel?" the captain asked  
as she and Commander Chakotay approached.  
  
"I found the doctor's creative endeavor quite brilliant,  
Captain."  
  
The captain's eyebrows rose. "I see. The doctor's work can be  
somewhat...self-congratulatory."  
  
Lizaat assumed the captain meant the words literally. She'd noted  
that the crew always referred to their emergency hologram as  
"doctor." Odd, but she respected their custom. "Indeed, the  
doctor should celebrate his versatility and higher nature. You  
must hold him in very great esteem."  
  
The captain remained speechless for several moments, and  
Commander Chakotay made a noise, then cleared his throat.  
"Uh...umm, yes, of course," the captain finally murmured, turning  
her attention to the others.  
  
"It's pretty obvious the doctor used the real crew as his model,"  
Kim was saying to Paris. "Except for a few cosmetic and species  
alterations, they were us."  
  
Though Lizaat had figured that out already, it was clear that  
some of the crew felt embarrassed by their inferiority, which was  
understandable.  
  
Torres was shaking her head. "I wonder what people will think in  
the Alpha quadrant?"  
  
"They'll know it's just a holonovel," Commander Chakotay said.  
"Our mission logs are public knowledge. The difference between  
fiction and reality is pretty obvious."  
  
Torres snorted and Kim muttered, "I wouldn't be so sure."  
  
"I don't think the doctor completely realized he was satirizing  
us."  
  
Kim gave Paris an accusing look. "But you did."  
  
"Geez, Harry don't start--"  
  
"You shouldn't complain, Harry," Neelix said. "On the Valorous  
the chief engineer chose to marry the operations officer."  
  
Kim grinned. "She did show exceptionally good taste."  
  
Torres snickered, then met her husband's annoyed look and  
shrugged. "If you would have let me rewire the holodeck before  
the holonovel started--" She stopped as the baby who'd been  
sleeping peacefully stirred and whimpered against her shoulder.  
Paris carefully tucked in a corner of the blanket wrapped around  
his daughter.  
  
"Don't worry, she's still asleep," Harry Kim said, while everyone  
smiled at the baby, who slept on unaware of the attention focused  
on her.  
  
Lizaat noted that the holonovel was immediately forgotten for the  
moment. She'd observed several other crewmembers showing uncommon  
interest and delight in this infant. She saw nothing unusual  
about the child to engender such attention. Though Miral was the  
offspring of Lieutenants Paris and Torres, the rest of the crew  
seemed to believe she also belonged to them in some manner. It  
was a puzzling mindset. On Shaal'ra babies and children were well  
cared for and conscientiously trained by their parents, but they  
were not given any special status. They were simply the immature  
bodies of their emerging identities.  
  
"Hello, Doctor," Commander Chakotay said, alerting Lizaat to the  
doctor's approach. "Your holonovel was quite entertaining."  
  
"Thank you, Commander," the doctor said. Despite the praise,  
Lizaat noted the doctor seemed quite dispirited. "It seems to be  
underappreciated by some of the crew."  
  
"That's because it was about us and it wasn't very--ow!" Kim  
glared at Paris, who'd jabbed him with an elbow.  
  
"The characters did seem a little familiar," Neelix said.  
  
"But there were a lot of funny moments," Chakotay added, earning  
a frustrated look from Janeway.  
  
"Indeed, humor always enhances a story and makes it more  
accessible to the public," the doctor said. "But the true purpose  
of my holonovel was to illustrate the value and versatility of  
holograms."  
  
"I found your story very enlightening Doctor," Lizaat said. "No  
doubt all those who view it will recognize the great worth of  
your kind."  
  
The doctor looked at her with appreciation. "Thank you, Lizaat.  
You are obviously very perceptive."  
  
The captain sighed. "Though I understand your desire to provide  
public edification, perhaps there are other--"  
  
"It's a moot point, Captain," the doctor interjected. "The public  
will not be seeing my holonovel, since my publisher has rejected  
it."  
  
"Rejected it?" Tom Paris sounded disbelieving.  
  
"That's a shame," Kim said, though he did not look unhappy at the  
news.  
  
"It seems that I cannot sign a legal contract, since as a  
hologram I am not considered a 'person' under Federation law."  
  
The doctor's bitter words made no sense to Lizaat. Perhaps the  
refusal stemmed from the fact that the doctor was many "persons"  
instead of one "person." Such literal interpretation was the mark  
of an immature species, and her estimation of these aliens and  
their Federation went down. She wanted to express her outrage,  
but she knew it was not her place to condemn the value system of  
these aliens. Deliin would certainly chastise her for such  
interference.  
  
The captain frowned. "I'm sure there are some exceptions,  
Doctor."  
  
The doctor shook his head. "I checked, and the law is  
unequivocal. After this presentation my holonovel will be have no  
future except to gather dust, colloquially speaking." He sighed  
heavily. "I suppose I should be used to this kind of treatment by  
now. Goodnight."  
  
"Doctor..." The captain frowned as the doctor walked away with  
his shoulders set in a dejected slump. "The law is wrong."  
  
"I thought you'd be happy to see the doctor's holonovel die a  
quick death," Chakotay said.  
  
"I may not be a big fan of the doctor's literary venture,  
Commander, but I will champion his right to create and distribute  
his work." The captain turned and walked away, with Chakotay by  
her side.  
  
"The captain will support the doctor's rights?" Lizaat asked. She  
would have to revise her opinion of these aliens again. At least  
the ones on this ship.  
  
"When Captain Janeway takes on a fight, she doesn't back down,"  
Paris said.  
  
"And you don't mess with anyone on her crew if you know what's  
good for you," Kim added.  
  
"A colorful if accurate observation, Mister Kim," Commander Tuvok  
said as he joined them. "Lizaat, this is Lieutenant Michael  
Ayala. He will escort you for the next eight hours."  
  
Lieutenant Ayala offered a hand. Metaar had reported this odd  
custom, so Lizaat shook it. She recognized him as one of the  
officers in the doctor's holonovel, Lieutenant Aloha, the  
entertainment director who arranged pool parties in a holodeck  
setting called "The Hula Zone." The holodeck within a holodeck  
had been a masterful use of irony in her view.  
  
"Where can I take you?" Ayala asked.  
  
"I would like to return to my quarters for a short while," Lizaat  
said.  
  
"I've got to go too," Kim said. "Marla's shift is almost over,  
and I promised I'd recap the doctor's holonovel for her. Wait  
until she finds out she's a Lurian."  
  
As Kim went one way, Ayala led Lizaat in another. She heard Tom  
Paris say to the security chief, "Hey, Tuvok. How old are Vulcan  
babies when they first start talking?"  
  
"Four months," Tuvok answered.  
  
Lizaat heard the incredulity in Paris's voice as he said, "You're  
kidding, right?"  
  
"No. A Vulcan child who did not talk until eight point seven  
months would be subjected to a full neurological examination to  
determine the developmental deficit."  
  
The conversation faded away as Lizaat followed Lieutenant Ayala  
into the turbolift. Her thoughts returned to the doctor. She was  
not the best one to handle this new information she had gathered,  
but she had much information to relate. By her calculation the  
"doctor" had at least eight separate identities, maybe more.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
"Personal log, Stardate 55662.1, EMH reporting:  
  
"The debut of my holonovel was a success, Though there were some  
complaints about the similarities between the crew of the  
Valorous and the crew of Voyager--similarities that are quite  
understated--the audience remained riveted during the  
presentation, and laughed frequently. It appears I have evolved  
further in the application of humor than I had realized.  
  
"The crew of Voyager is understandably burdened by cynicism due  
to the many difficulties they've experienced in the Delta  
quadrant. I'm certain the average citizen of the Federation would  
even more eagerly embrace my novel, not only as the excellent  
adventure it is, but as an introduction to a fascinating lifeform  
many have until now rarely encountered.  
  
"That's why this is so frustrating! To be offering the public  
this chance to understand the true nature of a hologram--as  
intelligent, resourceful, caring and courageous as any other  
sentient being--and to be denied that opportunity simply because  
I *am* a hologram--"  
  
"Excuse me, Doctor."  
  
The doctor looked up to find the Shaal'ra envoy standing in his  
office doorway. This time she was wearing a simple royal blue  
jumpsuit, and her hair was pulled back into a long, neat braid.  
She obviously wasn't Lizaat, and probably not the security  
officer, Metaar...  
  
"I am Deliin," she said, saving the doctor from searching further  
for a way to address her.  
  
"Deliin," the doctor repeated. "Welcome to Sickbay."  
  
"Thank you. Am I disturbing you?"  
  
"Not at all. Computer, pause log." He'd been prepared to complain  
about his fate for quite a bit longer, but seeing Deliin reminded  
him again of the unusual nature of the Shaal'ra. Normally he  
would have jumped at the opportunity to find out all he could  
about the physiology of such a unique species, if he hadn't been  
obsessed with his holonovel, which it turned out had been a  
complete waste of his time--  
  
"I hoped to find you here, since you do not sleep. I am pleased  
that I was correct."  
  
He did shut himself down sometimes, but the doctor was glad he'd  
decided not to tonight. "Do you require medical attention?"  
  
"No. I was touring your science and medical labs. I thought we  
might have a conversation."  
  
A hundred questions he'd like to ask her popped into the doctor's  
mind. He smiled cordially, forgetting his holonovel woes for the  
moment. "I'd be delighted." Then he noticed Lieutenant Ayala  
standing by the door. "Mister Ayala, why don't you go get some  
coffee or something and leave Deliin here for a while. I'll take  
responsibility for her."  
  
Ayala looked uncertain for a moment, then he nodded. "I'll be  
outside Sickbay when you're ready to go, Deliin."  
  
"Please, sit," the doctor said as Ayala left. "You said you were  
touring the science labs. Are you a science officer on the  
Maruuk?"  
  
"I'm not an officer," Deliin said. "The Maruuk is not primarily a  
military vessel, though it does have a defensive force. The ship  
is also a science facility, a hospital, a commerce center, and a  
transport for a variety of groups traveling between the homeworld  
and the outer colonies. I am a neurosurgeon."  
  
Tuvok had said the Maruuk contained three thousand Shaal'ra.  
Three thousand bodies anyway. "Do you mind if I ask you a few  
questions about your people?" the doctor asked.  
  
"Generally we do not share information with outsiders, but  
considering your nature, I will answer what I can."  
  
He wasn't sure what his nature had to do with it--perhaps because  
he was a fellow doctor--but he accepted her consent gladly.  
"There are a few species in the Federation who harbor symbionts.  
In those cases, the mental processes of both host and symbiont  
are integrated. From my brief observation of Metaar and Lizaat,  
and now you, I've deduced that your identities are not integrated  
at all, but completely separate."  
  
"You are correct, Doctor. We are separate individuals. We each  
have our own lives--our work, societal function, families--"  
  
"Families?" the doctor repeated. He considered how such multiple-  
consciousness beings would deal with sexual partnering and  
reproduction.  
  
"I have a husband and two children on the Maruuk," Deliin said.  
  
"I see. Then Metaar and Lizaat also have a husband and two  
children?" Who would share the same bodies, the doctor assumed.  
  
Deliin confirmed his assumption. "Of course. As does Tineel. Our  
husbands share one physical body, as do our children. That is  
elementary for us, though the concept seems to be a difficult one  
for single-identity beings."  
  
The doctor didn't doubt that. "Do you mate based on chemical  
bonding?"  
  
Deliin looked surprised and pleased at his perception, though it  
was the only method that made sense with multiple identities.  
Mating would be more a matter of instinct rather than choice for  
the Shaal'ra. "Yes, we do," she said. "I've heard that single-  
identity beings do not bond in that manner."  
  
"There is usually some chemical attraction involved, but it is  
only one part of bonding, and quite variable. Humans for  
instance, often go through several sexual relationships before  
they find a partner who is fully compatible. Even then, the bond  
they form may not be lifelong."  
  
Deliin shook her head. "That seems complicated and time-  
consuming. And very uncertain. I admit I find that aspect of  
single-species behavior difficult to conceptualize."  
  
"It is always difficult to conceptualize that with which you are  
unfamiliar." But often rewarding, the doctor had found. "Still,  
the Shaal'ra must have some experience with single-identity  
species'." If for no other reason than that they proliferated in  
the galaxy.  
  
"We have. Over a century ago the Shaal'ra opened trade relations  
with a single-identity species called the Trejemi. Unfortunately,  
their single-identity nature kept them from devoting their  
energies fully to any one craft or pursuit. Those we dealt with  
were often unfocused, easily distracted, and inflexible when the  
parameters of a negotiation were altered. This made negotiations  
difficult, with the Shaal'ra easily able to take the advantage.  
We have a strict ethical code, and after that experience, we  
decided to keep ourselves more isolated."  
  
"The Trejemi are only one species," the doctor pointed out. "The  
hundreds of species that make up the Federation have sustained  
that powerful alliance for centuries."  
  
"I do not doubt your word, Doctor. However we have also found  
that single-identity species are often in armed conflict with  
each other, sometimes even amongst themselves. We have never  
known war on our planet, and we do not wish to be drawn into the  
conflicts of others."  
  
"The Federation avoids conflict whenever possible, but sometimes  
you do have to fight to exist." The doctor thought it might be a  
good thing Shaal'ra space was far from Borg space, and from the  
Dominion.  
  
"We can defend ourselves if necessary," Deliin said. "Unlike  
single-identity beings we have met, we are each very specialized.  
Each identity is highly proficient at his or her role, and is  
able to devote energy exclusively to achieving an objective, even  
if that objective is the defense of our planet."  
  
The doctor nodded. "Of course. Single-identity beings do often  
take on several roles, but they can still be proficient at them.  
Lieutenant Paris, for instance, is our chief pilot, and my best  
medic. He also designed our Delta Flyer shuttle, is a decent  
mechanic, and has some skill as a holoprogrammer. In the meantime  
he is Harry Kim's best friend, our chief engineer's husband, and  
now a father to a baby girl. Though he has only one identity, he  
has a variety of aspects to his personality that take precedence  
depending on which role he is playing."  
  
Deliin shook her head. "It must be confusing and uncomfortable to  
have one's identity so vaguely defined, and to have no solid  
sense of purpose. One must also give less to each pursuit to  
spread oneself so far."  
  
"By focusing on only one pursuit Lieutenant Paris would miss out  
on the other pursuits he enjoys. Diverse interests and a desire  
to master a wide variety of activities are traits of many single-  
identity species, and humans in particular." The doctor couldn't  
imagine not having expanded his own programming to allow himself  
interests beyond medicine.  
  
Deliin looked perplexed. "Yet humans spend a long period of each  
day sleeping, instead of using that time for these added  
activities."  
  
"Sleep is biologically necessary, however, mental processes do  
not cease during sleep. Most single-identity species dream."  
  
"Dream?"  
  
The doctor realized the concept would be unknown to the Shaal'ra.  
"They enter a altered state of consciousness where concepts and  
scenarios, sometimes mundane, sometimes fantastical, are played  
out in their minds. It is a way for their minds to clear the  
clutter and regenerate. They often lapse into a similar state  
during conscious periods too. That is called daydreaming, which  
is a practice I have also taught myself by adding subroutines to  
stimulate imagination."  
  
"Imagination? You're referring to projecting mental images of  
probable outcomes, or hypothesizing possible solutions to complex  
problems?"  
  
The doctor nodded. "Yes, that is part of it. Humans also imagine  
future moments, such as receiving an award for a task they  
haven't yet completed, or what their child might be like when he  
or she grows up. And they imagine unlikely or even unattainable  
situations, such as seeing oneself as a great sea explorer who  
saves a ship in distress, perhaps falling in love with a  
beautiful woman onboard..."  
  
"Then this 'daydreaming' serves no real purpose," Deliin stated.  
  
"It can be frivolous, but it does serve a purpose. Besides being  
enjoyable and reducing stress, it allows humans to mentally  
explore their interests and potentials. It's also the basis of  
much art and literature. My holonovel, for instance."  
  
"I see," Deliin said. "Perhaps Lizaat would better understand the  
concept. She told me about your holonovel."  
  
"She *told* you?" The doctor's curiosity was piqued. The  
identities in one body couldn't talk to each other face to face,  
and he hadn't seen any evidence of telepathic communication. "How  
do you communicate with the other identities in your body?"  
  
"We record a log of our activities in a subdermal processor."  
  
"Internally, via electric impulses from the brain?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The doctor wondered how they had communicated in more primitive  
times. Written notes to each other? Gossip passed by those around  
them? Clues left in their shared dwellings? There was so much to  
learn about such an unusual species--  
  
"I accessed the log in the same manner to learn of Lizaat's  
activities last night," Deliin said. "She was impressed by your  
artistic talent, and the autobiographical nature of your  
holonovel."  
  
"I suppose some elements are autobiographical," the doctor  
agreed. Certainly there were embellishments for the sake of  
drama, but much of the emergency hologram's exploits were an  
accurate projection of his real abilities.  
  
"I believe you're being modest, Doctor. Like the Shaal'ra you  
possess multiple identities, with each able to perform a role  
with focused skill and efficiency."  
  
"It's true I have continually added new subroutines to  
incorporate news skills, but I don't think--"  
  
"Though you are the EMH at this moment, your holomatrix also  
contains the ECH, EEH, and half a dozen other identities or more,  
according to Lizaat."  
  
"I'm afraid Lizaat's understanding is incomplete," the doctor  
said.  
  
Deliin nodded. "Of course. We know very little about holograms.  
We have used holographic imagery only for simple applications,  
but you are clearly sentient. I assume you have a central  
database that is shared by your various identities, as we have a  
body and brain. You simply access each identity differently than  
we do."  
  
"I can access the pertinent subroutines to handle almost any  
given situation," the doctor said. "But that doesn't change my  
basic identity. I am still...well, *me*, for lack of a better  
word. I recall everything I've done, whether I was accessing my  
medical subroutines, my command subroutines, my interpersonal  
subroutines or any other subroutine. Unlike the Shaal'ra, I just  
have one self."  
  
Deliin pressed her fingers together in a Vulcan-like gesture for  
several moments before she spoke. "As a scientist I understand  
that you are different from us, and from the crew you work with  
on Voyager. You are a unique being. Perhaps you combine the best  
of both, able to be one identity and multiple identities.  
However, that distinction might best remain between the two of  
us."  
  
The doctor wasn't sure why she made that request, but he nodded.  
"Would you like to see my holonovel?" he asked eagerly. "It would  
give you a clearer understanding of my nature."  
  
"Thank you for the offer, but I have no interest in artistic  
productions. That is Lizaat's area."  
  
The doctor was disappointed, but he supposed that made sense,  
given each identity's specialization and limited periods of  
awareness. They would have little or no time for outside  
interests or leisure activities. It seemed unfortunate, though  
the Shaal'ra wouldn't feel they were missing anything, any more  
than Lieutenant Torres felt she was missing something by not  
listening to opera.  
  
Deliin stood. "I must return to my quarters, Doctor, but I thank  
you for the conversation. It was illuminating. I do find those on  
Voyager different in some ways from the depictions of the  
Trejemi. Perhaps those differences are as meaningful as the  
similarities."  
  
"Perhaps they are," the doctor agreed. "It's only through close  
contact and prolonged interaction that you can truly understand  
another species. Or begin to understand."  
  
Deliin's lips curved slightly. "I understand. Perhaps the  
Shaal'ra have been quick to judge in the past, based on our  
limited experience with single-identity species'. But I am a  
scientist. I do not judge those on Voyager. We can each only be  
true to our own nature, whether human, Shaal'ra, Trejemi, or  
hologram."  
  
The doctor nodded in agreement. If only some weren't punished for  
their nature.  
  
"Doctor..." Deliin's gaze on him was thoughtful. "Do you have a  
subroutine adept in negotiating trade agreements?"  
  
"Certainly," the doctor said. He'd never actually negotiated a  
trade agreement, but he could easily access the necessary  
knowledge. That was the another of the many advantages of a  
hologram which so few in the universe seemed to appreciate.  
  
"I believe Tineel will be stopping by to talk with you later  
today."  
  
"I look forward to it."  
  
The doctor watched Deliin exit Sickbay, and sat back in his  
chair, staring at the ceiling contemplatively. "Computer, resume  
log."  
  
"I just received a visit from one of the identities of the  
Shaal'ra envoy. Her name is Deliin. She seems a true  
representative of her species--intelligent, composed and focused.  
We had a fascinating conversation. It is unfortunate Voyager is  
being escorted at a deliberate distance from the Shaal'ra  
homeworld. It would have been remarkable to meet more Shaal'ra,  
and to observe their society. No doubt it is as peaceful and  
well-organized as the individual lives of its citizens.  
  
"Though it must be comforting to know one's exact role in  
society, and to have such a strong sense of self, I'm not sure I  
envy the Shaal'ra. Their lives appear to be very regimented. Most  
single-identity beings experience uncertainty about their purpose  
and goals, and often search for a sense of identity and belonging  
not fully provided by biology--a process made more difficult for  
someone of mixed heritage like Lieutenant Torres. Yet, I don't  
believe anyone on Voyager would give up the ability to make their  
own choices, right or wrong, for any amount of security.  
  
"As for me, I find it curious that I started out much like the  
Shaal'ra--strongly defined by my programming. I was a doctor,  
with one purpose that never wavered. Then I began to expand my  
own programming, and now I am more like humans, making my own  
choices, some of which have undoubtedly been mistakes.  
  
"Yet I am not human any more than I am Shaal'ra, and I don't wish  
to be either. I like who I am, and what I am, and I deserve the  
same respect and recognition as any other being. I not only  
deserve it, I'm going to demand it.  
  
"End log."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Act Three:  
  
Neelix always arrived at the mess hall well before the beginning  
of his shift, but today he was earlier than usual. Occasionally  
one or two third shift crewmembers would be there taking a break,  
and during ship alert and other high tension periods when shifts  
overlapped the mess hall was the scene of activity at all hours.  
But most of the time Neelix found himself alone, enjoying the  
brief silence in his domain (and brief silence was as much as his  
gregarious nature desired), and pondering what the day would  
bring as he brewed coffee and prepared breakfast.  
  
This morning he particularly looked forward to the familiar  
surroundings of the mess hall and his kitchen. He'd had a  
nightmare last night, inspired by the doctor's holonovel. He  
dreamed he'd been turned into a real Ferengi, with horrid teeth,  
giant ears and all, and no one on Voyager could figure out how to  
change him back. He'd seen his reflection in a mirror and had  
recoiled at the sight of the oversized bat staring back at him.  
He shuddered now at the memory.  
  
Neelix entered to find the lights dimmed and the room unoccupied,  
and immediately noticed a strange, low-pitched sound. It wasn't  
any of the sounds he was familiar with--the soft drone of the  
engines that permeated the ship, the buzzing of the blender, or  
his own voice humming a Talaxian tune as he sometimes did in the  
early morning. Then he saw the blue glow of the force field.  
  
The carpet cleaner, which he'd heard addressed by several names,  
was busy scrubbing a section of carpet right next to the kitchen.  
Two of its attached arms slithered like snakes along the edge of  
the common wall. But what filled Neelix with dismay was the fact  
that the shimmering force field was blocking the entryway to his  
kitchen.  
  
Neelix rarely woke up in a bad mood, but after his restless night  
he'd felt almost grumpy as he'd dressed for the day. Generally he  
could handle almost any situation without losing his temper.  
Being barred from his own kitchen wasn't one of them.  
  
"Computer, delete force field!"  
  
"That action requires authorization from Commander Chakotay or  
Ensign Jacob Ehsani."  
  
Conveniently, Ensign Ehsani worked the third shift. Neelix  
slapped his commbadge. "Ensign Ehsani, report to the Mess hall  
immediately!"  
  
It only took Ehsani two minutes to reach the Mess hall, during  
which time Neelix watched the shiny green machine do its work  
methodically, and very slowly, as if it were deliberately taking  
its time allowing him access into his kitchen.  
  
"Ensign, why is this thing in the here? According to the schedule  
it was supposed to do the mess hall from 0200 to 0400." Neelix  
had checked to make sure it wouldn't interfere with his cooking  
routine.  
  
"It was. But Hydroponics had a plant due to bloom early this  
morning and they didn't want the carpet cleaner to inadvertently  
suck up the spores, or something. So I moved Hydroponics on the  
schedule, which pushed everything else a couple hours back. The  
force field should be gone within ten minutes. Or maybe twenty,  
since this area is heavily traveled."  
  
"Twenty minutes?!" Neelix barked. Ehsani clearly didn't  
understand the gravity of the situation. "The captain will expect  
her coffee to be ready when she arrives! Delete the force field  
so I can get into my kitchen!"  
  
Ehsani looked a little taken aback at the outburst from the  
generally good-natured Talaxian. "I, uh....I don't know if I  
should do that without Commander Chakotay's permission."  
  
"Why did the commander put you in charge if you have to get his  
permission?" Neelix huffed.  
  
"Well, it depends on the problem..."  
  
"Mister Neelix. Ensign Ehsani. What *is* the problem?"  
  
Both turned to see Tuvok studying them impassively. Tuvok was  
always one of the earliest arrivals in the mess hall. Neelix was  
often ready with a cup of his favorite blend of Vulcan tea. "I  
need to get in my kitchen, and the carpet cleaner has erected a  
force field across the entryway."  
  
"You could always request site to site transport," Ehsani  
suggested. "From the mess hall to the mess hall."  
  
Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Ehsani's grin. "Ensign, your  
suggestion is a logical one. Computer, lock onto Mister Neelix  
and transport him to ship coordinates five, fourteen, twenty-  
two."  
  
Neelix's mouth had dropped open and before he could close it he  
was standing in his kitchen. Tuvok moved over to the serving  
counter that was currently bisected by the force field, and  
rested his hands on it. "There is a second logical solution,  
Mister Neelix. You might have simply climbed over this clear  
section of the counter."  
  
"I was about to," Neelix mumbled. He hadn't actually thought of  
it. That dream had obviously muddled his brain.  
  
"Am I free to go now?" Ensign Ehsani asked. "I'm missing Morrow's  
account of the doctor's holonovel debut last night. I heard it  
was pretty funny."  
  
"You may go, Ensign," Tuvok said.  
  
"I don't guess you found the holonovel funny, Mister Vulcan,"  
Neelix said as he set the teapot to boil. "You must have been  
insulted that T'Ubark was so incompetent."  
  
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I am not T'Ubark."  
  
Neelix wondered if Tuvok hadn't noticed the obvious resemblance  
he bore to the sullen Klingon in the doctor's story, despite the  
latter's forehead ridges and sharp teeth. Why, T'Ubark even had a  
wife and four warrior children waiting at home for him. "So you  
don't think the doctor was writing about us?"  
  
"The doctor displayed limited creativity in his  
characterizations, however the physical similarities are  
irrelevant. Given the unlikely events and characters in the  
holonovel, there is no difficulty distinguishing it as fiction--  
frivolous and insignificant fiction--rather than a biographical  
account."  
  
Neelix pondered that for a moment as he steeped the tea. "I  
suppose you're right."  
  
"Right about what?" Sarexa asked as she joined them.  
  
Neelix smiled warmly at her. She was another who sometimes showed  
up quite early in the mess hall. They often enjoyed a lively  
discussion before the first shift began arriving for breakfast.  
"We were talking about the doctor's holonovel."  
  
"I really wanted to see it," Sarexa said, sounding genuinely  
disappointed. "I haven't heard much about it yet, except that the  
doctor apparently borrowed his characters from the crew, and that  
it was 'farcical,' as Sam Wildman put it."  
  
"I guess you could call it that," Neelix agreed. He handed Tuvok  
his cup of tea. "Vulcan herb tea, Sarexa?"  
  
"Please," Sarexa said as Tuvok nodded to them both, then headed  
for a table at the far side of the mess hall so he could review  
his morning security reports. Much as Neelix liked to engage the  
reticent Vulcan in conversation, he always respected Tuvok's  
morning ritual.  
  
"So, is it true the doctor can't publish his novel because he's a  
hologram?" Sarexa asked as Neelix poured her a cup of tea.  
  
"That's what the doctor said. He isn't considered a 'person' by  
the Federation."  
  
"That seems very unfair."  
  
"You haven't seen the holonovel yet," Neelix joked, though he  
felt a twinge of sympathy for the doctor.  
  
"That's beside the point. However good or bad the doctor's  
writing may be, there shouldn't be any question about his right  
to publish his work. He's as much a person as anyone on Voyager."  
  
Neelix couldn't deny that. "You're right. I guess it really is  
unfair."  
  
"It shouldn't be allowed." Sarexa looked at Neelix closely as she  
took a sip of tea. "There must be something we can do about it,  
if the captain can't."  
  
Neelix pulled out a large pot. "I don't know what we could do."  
  
"We'll both think about it," Sarexa suggested. "In the meantime,  
tell me about the doctor's holoprogram. Was I in it?"  
  
"Everyone was in it. You were a Berengarian, from a colony world  
in the Federation."  
  
"A Berengarian? I don't think I've read about them. Did my  
character do anything embarrassing?"  
  
"I don't recall you doing anything to endanger the ship, but you  
did annoy the captain once when you had some trouble keeping your  
dragon in your quarters."  
  
Sarexa's eyes widened. "I had a dragon?" She leaned her arms on  
the counter. "Tell me more."  
  
As Neelix prepared a breakfast of honey-sweetened oatmeal and the  
last of the Kesilian redfruit, he told Sarexa the whole story. He  
didn't notice the force field vanish or the carpet cleaner depart  
the mess hall. He did realize as he talked and Sarexa laughed  
that perhaps the doctor's holonovel did have some merit after  
all.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Janeway sat behind her desk and looked curiously at the latest  
Shaal'ra identity, Tineel, who had appeared on the bridge with  
Lieutenant Rollins a few minutes earlier to request a private  
meeting. She waited for Tineel to sit before asking, "How can I  
help you?"  
  
"I may be able to help you, Captain. There may be a way to  
accommodate your request for a trade negotiation."  
  
Tineel's words were the last ones Janeway expected to hear. She  
had been convinced the Shaal'ra decision was final, and she'd  
elected not to push the issue. It was enough the Shaal'ra had  
agreed to let Voyager cross their space, and that they were a  
peaceful and agreeable species, if a reserved one. The four  
identities who were on Voyager had thus far been polite and well  
behaved. The Shaal'ra had every right to their chosen isolation,  
and her crew would survive a limited diet and supplements until  
fresh food supplies could be replenished after their next jump.  
  
Janeway studied the Shaal'ra political analyst, who was dressed  
in charcoal gray pants and jacket, her dark hair gathered into a  
braid and looped once around her head. She wondered again if the  
hairstyles connoted position or status. "I was led to believe  
that arranging a trade was not a possibility, Tineel, but I  
welcome any change of heart on the part of the Shaal'ra."  
  
"I have to make the proposal first, Captain, but I believe when  
these new facts are known, the Supreme Council will allow the  
Maruuk's traders to enter negotiations with your emergency trader  
hologram."  
  
"Emergency trader--you mean the doctor?"  
  
"That is one of his identities," Tineel replied. "He assured  
Deliin that he also has a very capable trader, along with the  
several other identities he revealed in his autobiography."  
  
Autobiography? Janeway realized Tineel had to be talking about  
the doctor's holonovel. Lizaat had been present at the premiere,  
and had obviously had taken fiction for fact. Her first instinct  
was to groan, then to correct the misinterpretation, but she also  
immediately saw the implication.  
  
"Tineel, I'm afraid the doctor's holonovel wasn't completely  
factual--" Janeway paused. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't  
want to squander this opportunity either. "That is, in writing an  
autobiography one often dramatizes certain aspects to increase  
its appeal to the audience."  
  
"I admit I have no knowledge of such dramatic compositions, but I  
assume the basic representation is accurate. Your emergency  
hologram possesses nearly a dozen identities, from doctor to  
engineer to command hologram, which he calls 'subroutines.' I am  
told he has in fact commanded your ship during the most trying  
moments."  
  
"He has been in command of Voyager more than once," Janeway said  
truthfully.  
  
"Indeed, Lizaat and Deliin both deduced his great value to your  
ship. The fact that the EMH identity presides for long periods is  
unusual, though perhaps not for a hologram. No doubt the ECH is  
available to take over for you when the situation becomes  
critical."  
  
Janeway cleared her throat, swallowing her pride at the same  
time. "Yes, he is available."  
  
Tineel nodded sagely. "His presence makes it clear why you have  
survived such a long, perilous journey."  
  
"The doctor has been instrumental in our survival," Janeway  
agreed. Of course, so had Chakotay, Torres, Paris, Tuvok, and  
Seven, to name a few. At some point every crewmember had made the  
difference between survival and annihilation.  
  
"We understand the doctor's nature is different from our own,"  
Tineel said. "The concept of a sentient hologram is unknown to  
us, but I believe I can convince the Shaal'ra council to accept  
the emergency hologram as a fully-fledged being. His trader  
identity would then be eligible to negotiate with our traders."  
  
Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Lieutenant Rollins." Rollins  
entered her ready room within moments. "Please give Tineel access  
to communications so she can speak with the Shaal'ra council."  
  
"Yes, Captain."  
  
The captain stood. "Tineel, I appreciate your efforts on our  
behalf."  
  
"No gratitude is necessary, Captain. Thank your EH. He has proved  
his worth once again."  
  
"I'll certainly do that," Janeway said. A few moments after  
Tineel left, her first officer entered. She'd expected he would  
be curious, and she gave him a quick rundown of Tineel's visit.  
"I have to admit," she said after she'd finished, "I feel a  
little uncomfortable with the deception."  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "The doctor can perform multiple skills with  
ease. If he wanted to I suppose he could split his subroutines  
and memory files into separate identities that are each unaware  
of the others. Therefore, you didn't lie."  
  
"Nice logic, Commander," Janeway said dryly. Then she shook her  
head. "Between the doctor and the Shaal'ra, I'm starting to get  
an inferiority complex."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
Janeway met Chakotay's knowing gaze. She smiled. "You're right.  
I'm not. The Shaal'ra are certainly one of the more interesting  
species we've encountered, but I can't say I envy them. While it  
might be advantageous for a society to have its people productive  
for twenty-four hours a day, where's the fun in that?"  
  
"Well, they must have personal relationships, and they have to  
reproduce. Presumably that would be fun."  
  
Janeway wasn't so sure. It was an odd thought, how the Shaal'ra  
might handle interpersonal relationships. She wondered if  
identities in two mated bodies were bonded individually in some  
way, or if it was more of a polygamous arrangement. "I guess I'm  
proprietary about my body. I can't imagine sharing it with  
several other identities."  
  
"Neither can I."  
  
Janeway gave Chakotay a sharp look, but couldn't tell from his  
guileless expression whether he was referring to his body, or  
hers. "In any case," she drawled, "I'm hoping if the doctor is  
allowed to visit the Maruuk, he might influence the opinion of  
the Shaal'ra about single-identity species'. After all, if the  
doctor can accept *us* as equals..."  
  
Chakotay chuckled. "I don't think we were exactly 'equals' in his  
holonovel, and it's clear that the Shaal'ra are not very good at  
making the distinction between reality and fiction."  
  
"At least the doctor's holonovel may serve a purpose rather than  
inflaming the sentiments of the crew."  
  
"Oh, I don't know. A few were offended by the obvious  
caricatures, but most have considered the source, and taken it as  
the small issue it is. Several were even laughing about it at  
breakfast."  
  
Janeway's eyebrows rose. "About it, or at it?"  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "Mostly about it. It does have a certain  
entertainment value"--he grinned at Janeway's soft snort--"and  
the laugh factor is enough for most of the crew to brush off any  
perceived insult in the characters."  
  
Janeway knew Chakotay was one of them. There was little that  
could pierce his pride. She'd always admired his strong sense of  
self.  
  
"Naomi Wildman has also suggested that it would be nice to have a  
dog on Voyager."  
  
"A dog? On a starship?" Besides the fact that it would be a  
little hard to accomplish at this point, Janeway hoped Naomi  
would want a dog a little friendlier than the fictional  
Schweitzer.  
  
"You never heard of Captain Archer and Porthos?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"Of course, but that was another time." A time when a captain  
could bring his own dog into space with him. Though Janeway  
wasn't sure Starfleet rules expressly forbid it even now, that  
had gone out of style with Archer himself. She'd missed Molly  
terribly, especially in those first few months, and had imagined  
Molly's head on her lap, tail wagging and eyes gazing soulfully  
up at her more than once. Still, she would never have considered  
bringing Molly, particularly in her condition. She could just  
imagine seven Irish Setters now wandering around Voyager--  
  
"Kathryn?"  
  
Chakotay's gaze was sympathetic, as if he'd read her mind. He  
probably had. She shook her head. "Well, it's a good thing the  
crew isn't too upset with the doctor's holonovel. At least I  
won't have to deal with anyone trying to string him up by his  
holographic neck over his narcissism."  
  
"The doctor is actually capable of doing all those things the EH  
did in 'A Hero for the Times,'" Chakotay pointed out. "If the  
crew was really as inept as the crew on the Valorous."  
  
Janeway sighed. "Sometimes I do realize the doctor is quite  
remarkable. And he certainly has proved his worth to Voyager. If  
only he didn't feel the need to constantly inflate his own  
importance."  
  
"He's insecure."  
  
"The doctor?" Janeway started to laugh at Chakotay's simple  
statement. Then she realized he was right.  
  
"I can't really blame him," Chakotay said. "It must be hard to  
feel secure when you have no certain future, and no right to  
self-determination. It's interesting that the Shaal'ra are  
willing to accept the doctor as a sentient being, yet the  
Federation does not."  
  
Janeway stood. "I plan to bring up that very subject today with  
Starfleet."  
  
"They certainly won't give you a straight answer."  
  
Janeway met Chakotay's cynical look. He knew as well as she that  
Starfleet wasn't going to give her assurances about the fate of  
anyone on Voyager until they arrived at Earth. "I can at least  
prod them to begin considering the issue."  
  
"You can," Chakotay agreed as he stood and joined her.  
  
"Since the crew is so prosaic about the doctor's holonovel, what  
about the carpet cleaning? I understand there have been half a  
dozen reports of lost items, along with complaints about the  
force field."  
  
Chakotay grinned crookedly. "A small price to pay for clean  
carpets, isn't it?"  
  
Janeway gave him an arch look. "I suppose I'd better not mention  
the walls could use a new coat of paint."  
  
"Just don't say the hull needs to be scraped. I have a feeling  
the crew would vote to send me out there to do it myself."  
  
Janeway couldn't resist. "Come to think of it, the hull is  
looking a little dull..."  
  
"Funny," Chakotay said, his eyes glinting. "The carpet cleaning  
should be finished by tomorrow night. When should we schedule  
that white glove inspection?"  
  
"I'll...let you know," Janeway murmured as she brushed  
deliberately past him. Then she strode out of the ready room,  
leaving him to follow, and to wonder at her meaning. At the  
moment she had duties to attend to, not the least of which was an  
insecure hologram.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Fourteen forty-one hours. It was almost time. Joe Carey took a  
deep breath to still his excitement, and the feel of butterflies  
in his belly. Despite the letters exchanged back and forth, and  
the video images he'd seen of his wife and sons, this was  
something altogether different. His sons had been little boys  
when he'd left and now Joe Junior was a teenager. They were  
almost grown, and they'd done it without him. That loss had  
assaulted him regularly over the years, interrupting his sleep,  
and dampening his triumphs, always there even during the best of  
times on Voyager. He'd missed so much that he could never get  
back.  
  
"Hey, Joe."  
  
Michael Ayala was already standing in front of the briefing room.  
Joe figured any nervousness he felt was minor to what Michael  
must be feeling. While his own family had been safe on Earth,  
Michael's had been incarcerated in Cardassian work camps. So far  
Michael's son was the only one who had been returned home alive,  
and physically well at least. Joe knew from Anne's letters that  
Luis was doing better, but the boy remained withdrawn and wary in  
many ways, and he still didn't talk.  
  
"Guess I'm a few minutes early."  
  
Joe smiled. "Me too. I've waited eight years for this, and I  
don't plan to miss a second of it."  
  
Michael nodded in agreement and Joe noticed the normally  
unflappable security officer was tapping his foot nervously. To  
break the tension he said, "I heard you're assigned to the  
Shaal'ra envoy."  
  
Michael nodded. "'Envoys' would be more accurate, though I've  
only met two of them, Lizaat and Deliin."  
  
Joe had heard about the unusual nature of the Shaal'ra, whom some  
of the crew had been referring to as the "multiple personality"  
aliens. It was a bizarre concept, several separate identities in  
one body, but he hadn't dwelled much on it. At lunch today Sue  
also told him that his counterpart in the doctor's holonovel was  
a surly Tellarite, and that B'Elanna had been on the warpath this  
morning because Engineering smelled like a "damned flower bed"  
from the carpet cleaning. Though it was all happening around him,  
he couldn't get too worked up about it. For the past couple of  
days his mind had been focused on one thing--his family. Even  
amidst his preparations for the next slipstream jump, his only  
thought was how much faster the improved formula he'd devised  
would get him home to his wife and sons.  
  
"They seem friendly enough, if a little formal," Michael said,  
referring to the Shaal'ra. "They certainly follow every rule  
we've laid out to the letter. They seem interested in us, though  
they sure don't talk much about themselves..."  
  
Michael's voice trailed off as Marla Gilmore and Harry Kim walked  
out of the briefing room. Apparently Harry was already meeting  
the family. Marla looked relaxed and happy, and Joe was glad to  
see it. She and Harry both deserved some happiness. "How is your  
sister?"  
  
Marla smiled warmly. "She's really good, Joe."  
  
Harry squeezed Marla's hand surreptitiously, though Joe caught  
the gesture, and the intimate look between them. "See you later.  
Joe, Michael..."  
  
"Enjoy, you two," Marla said as Harry led Joe and Michael into  
the briefing room. They sat at the table as Harry moved to the  
console. A moment later the Starfleet emblem on the viewscreen  
disappeared.  
  
"I'll be right outside if there are any problems," Harry said  
behind them.  
  
Joe barely heard the door close as the screen cleared and he saw  
his sons, and Anne. His Annie. A soft, radiant smile curved her  
lips as their eyes met. Her face had hardly changed over the  
years, except for a small line or two around her emerald green  
eyes. He looked at JJ, as tall as he was with the same red hair,  
and Patrick, slender and gangly with his mother's darker hair and  
green eyes. His heart ached at the sight of them. Then it soared.  
  
They would all be together soon now. For real. All these years of  
waiting and of missing them so desperately would be over.  
  
Joe looked at the dark-haired boy on the other side of Anne, the  
only one who wasn't smiling. The boy's expression was wary, and  
the tension in his body was palpable. He sat stiffly on the edge  
of his chair, as if he might bolt at the slightest provocation.  
Joe thought he saw a flicker of hope mixed with the apprehension  
in the boy's gaze as he looked at Michael. After all this time it  
was obvious the boy was still afraid to believe his father was  
here. Joe recalled Annie's last letter, where she'd told him she  
sensed Luis was waiting for something specific to release him  
from his self-imposed silence.  
  
Joe met Annie's warm gaze again. Already a few seconds had  
passed. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and that he  
couldn't wait to hold her. And his boys--how proud he was that  
they'd grown into such fine young men. He'd also tell them he'd  
finally finished the Voyager in the bottle he'd promised them. In  
just a minute. But first...  
  
Annie nodded imperceptibly, reading his mind even through seven  
thousand light years of space. Joe put a hand on Michael's  
shoulder, and their eyes met briefly in understanding before  
Michael turned his gaze back to his son. Michael swallowed once,  
and Joe saw him blink away moisture from his eyes. Then Michael  
smiled, his face suffused with feeling as he said strong, clear  
voice, "Hello, son."  
  
Luis stared back at his father as Anne squeezed his hand in a  
gesture of support and encouragement. After several moments his  
rigid posture relaxed, and a shy, tentative smile touched his  
lips. His eyes registered both relief and a quiet joy as he said  
in little more than a soft croak, "Hello, Dad."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
The captain and Tineel walked into Sickbay just as the doctor was  
finishing with his current patient. "Your ankle is as good as  
new, Lieutenant," the doctor said as he turned off the  
osteoregenerator. "Next time remember that you have to step  
*down* when you move from a shuttle to the deck of the shuttle  
bay."  
  
"Yes, sir," Chapman said as he stepped gingerly off the biobed.  
He murmured a quick "thanks" and hurried out, nodding to the  
captain and Tineel as he left.  
  
"Lieutenant Chapman was working on the guidance system on the  
Sacajawea," the doctor said, before Janeway could ask. "He  
realized it was time for lunch and in his incomprehensible  
enthusiasm for Neelix's latest concoction he apparently forgot  
where he was."  
  
Janeway smiled. "Mister Chapman can be a bit clumsy." The doctor  
rolled his eyes at the understatement, as the captain continued,  
"Doctor, I believe you've met Tineel."  
  
The doctor nodded. "Yes." Tineel had stopped by Sickbay with  
Lieutenant Rollins in tow an hour or so earlier to introduce  
herself, though she'd left without saying much else. "Is there  
something I can do for you?"  
  
"Tineel believes we may be able to arrange a trade with the  
Shaal'ra after all."  
  
"Really?" The doctor smiled at Tineel. "I assure you, the crew  
will be very grateful. They always complain when they have to  
take extra supplements, though supplements are more than adequate  
for their nutritional needs."  
  
"If your trader identity is willing to conduct the negotiations,  
the Shaal'ra will accept him as Voyager's trade representative,"  
Tineel said.  
  
"My trader--"  
  
Janeway interrupted him. "Thanks to your holonovel, the Shaal'ra  
are now aware that you possess a number of different identities,  
Doctor, though you refer to them as subroutines. Thus it wouldn't  
violate their laws for your trader to engage in negotiations  
aboard the Maruuk."  
  
The doctor read the message in the captain's eyes. Go along. "Of  
course I--my trader subroutine would be willing to represent  
Voyager."  
  
"I have already forwarded my request to the Council," Tineel  
said, "along with recommendations from Deliin and Lizaat. There  
are several supply routes nearby, so a ship could rendezvous with  
the Maruuk within an hour should the Council approve my request."  
She offered the doctor a dataPADD. "I've detailed the Shaal'ra  
rules of trade negotiations for your perusal."  
  
"Thank you," the doctor said. "I will be prepared."  
  
"When you visit the Maruuk I hope to have the opportunity to  
discuss with your ECH the influence of politics on starship  
operations," Tineel said. "Right now I will leave you to your  
business here."  
  
"Thank you again for your assistance, Tineel," the captain said.  
She waited for Tineel to depart before turning to the doctor,  
eyebrows raised.  
  
"Captain, there appears to be some confusion among the Shaal'ra  
about my nature. I explained to Deliin that I have only one  
identity. I thought she understood."  
  
"Perhaps she did," the captain said. "And she simply emphasized  
the concept the Shaal'ra could understand."  
  
The doctor met the captain's shrewd gaze. He recalled Deliin's  
request that they keep the full details of his nature between  
them. She'd meant to keep it from the other identities who shared  
her body. "Lizaat interpreted my holonovel as an autobiography."  
  
"So I heard." The captain's voice was dry. "Tineel seems to  
believe you are the sole reason we have managed to survive the  
many perils of the Delta quadrant."  
  
The doctor looked sheepish. "Of course I'm not. I explained it  
wasn't autobiographical, not completely--"  
  
"But many parts are, Doctor," Janeway said. "Though I don't know  
that it was necessary to make the organic crew of the Valorous so  
inept in contrast to the EH. Your capabilities are astounding  
enough without resorting to such tactics."  
  
The doctor was stunned. "I...thank you, Captain. However, I did  
it not just for my benefit but for the benefit of all holograms."  
Truthfully, that had been a secondary focus, but he'd taken his  
publisher's rejection as a rejection of holograms in general. "I  
don't know if you realize that my very brethren, the  
decommissioned Mark Ones, have been relegated to working as  
virtual slaves in the several Federation mines."  
  
"Doctor, that won't happen to you," Janeway assured him. "I spoke  
with Starfleet about your situation this afternoon during the FTL  
briefing. They are taking the issue of your status under  
advisement. Such questions of sentience have historically been  
decided on a case by case basis. Not long ago, Lieutenant Data of  
the Enterprise was given sentient status and the right to self-  
determination. I won't be getting any real assurances from  
Starfleet until we get home, but I have no reason to doubt that  
you will be granted the same status."  
  
The doctor knew very well that Starfleet was "hedging its bets,"  
as Lieutenant Paris had put it, when it came to Voyager and its  
crew. "Thank you, Captain. I hope you're right."  
  
"I am," Janeway replied with conviction. "In the meantime, I'd  
like you to work with Neelix on a list of supplies we need, in  
case the Shaal'ra council decides in our favor. Neelix has also  
done his fair share of trading, so he might be able to give you  
some pointers."  
  
The doctor huffed at that. "I'm sure I can manage."  
  
The captain smiled. "So am I, Doctor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I  
have an appointment with Lizaat in half an hour in holodeck one.  
I'm going to introduce her to one of Earth's greatest artists."  
  
"Leonardo da Vinci?" the doctor guessed.  
  
"Yes." Janeway smiled slyly. "Lieutenants Paris and Kim offered  
to introduce Lizaat to Captain Proton, but rank does have *some*  
privileges. I'll let you know when I receive the Shaal'ra  
council's decision."  
  
After watching the captain depart, the doctor returned to his  
office. While he appreciated her determination to aid him in  
gaining sentient status within the Federation, he knew that  
wouldn't be enough. He couldn't forget about all those Mark One's  
working in mindless drudgery. Perhaps it could be argued that  
they were not like him, and that they lacked true self-awareness  
and the ability to self-evolve. So had he at one time, but they  
had every potential to reach his level, if they were allowed the  
opportunity.  
  
First, they would need an advocate who could point out that  
potential, who understood their nature, and who could argue  
passionately for their rights. He was living proof that holograms  
could be every bit as sentient as any organic being. He'd  
experienced the same joys and heartaches, triumphs and failures,  
passions and desires. Given that, who could be a better advocate  
than him?  
  
The doctor knew just the medium to make his strongest appeal. He  
picked up a dataPADD from his desk, and started to work.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
B'Elanna arrived home at 1920 hours to find her husband on the  
floor by the couch. Several weeks ago Miral started pulling  
herself up anywhere she could get a grip. Now she was gripping  
the coffee table as she glided along on her chubby little legs,  
using the table to keep herself balanced.  
  
"Walk to daddy, sweetheart," Tom said, his arms outstretched from  
where he crouched a meter or so away, just out of Miral's reach.  
"Show mommy you can do it."  
  
"She walked?" B'Elanna asked as she joined him, feeling a pang  
that she'd missed it. Miral had been thoughtful enough to say her  
first word with both of her parents present.  
  
"No, not yet. Every time she lets go she ends up on her butt.  
She's getting close though, aren't you, sweetie?"  
  
Miral let go of the table at that moment. Her legs wobbled as she  
attempted a shaky step and landed immediately on her butt.  
  
B'Elanna knelt down and kissed her daughter's dark curls. Miral  
wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, babbling as B'Elanna  
picked her up and hugged her. Then she handed Miral over to Tom.  
  
"How was your day?"  
  
"Long," B'Elanna answered as she walked toward the closet. "Sorry  
I'm a little late but the warp matrix overflow system was acting  
up again." She kicked off her shoes. "I wanted to minimize any  
chance of being bothered during our time with your parents  
tomorrow."  
  
"If you get too busy tomorrow, it's no big deal. You'll meet them  
eventually."  
  
B'Elanna went still for a moment. When she turned around, Miral  
was blowing spit bubbles, something her father--who was smiling  
at her indulgently--had taught her. B'Elanna dropped her jacket  
and held out her arms. "I'll take her."  
  
B'Elanna balanced her daughter on her hip, bouncing her lightly  
in one arm. Then she reached out with the other hand and shoved  
Tom in the chest. He fell backward on the bed with a soft  
"oomph", and stared up at her in astonishment.  
  
"What was that for?!"  
  
B'Elanna smiled at Miral and wiped a smudge off her cheek before  
looking at Tom. "For being a jerk. For acting like you don't  
care, and like I shouldn't care. For saying my meeting your  
parents isn't a big deal."  
  
"B'Elanna, I didn't mean--"  
  
"That's always your line, Tom." B'Elanna felt her temper  
simmering, but she kept it under control for Miral's sake.  
"Everything is no big deal to you. You can take it or leave it."  
  
"That's not true--"  
  
"I'm supposed to believe that it's no big deal talking to your  
parents--to your father," she amended. Tom's mother had always  
been solidly supportive of her son, when Tom had allowed her to  
be part of his life. "Then why were you so eager to trade your  
time with Harry?"  
  
"Because Harry was disappointed in his draw. My father and I are  
fine now. We've been writing letters, and you know we've  
reconciled."  
  
"Right," B'Elanna said. Miral was squirming and B'Elanna set her  
on the carpet just as she started to fuss. Then she looked at Tom  
again and crossed her arms. "You haven't talked to your father  
face to face in...nine years?"  
  
Tom shrugged as he sat up. "More or less."  
  
"And this will be the first time in fifteen or more years you'll  
be talking to him as someone besides a drunken, reprobate, self-  
absorbed and self-pitying loser."  
  
Tom winced. "Geez, don't mince words, B'Elanna."  
  
"I didn't. But you're not that person anymore, Tom. You've turned  
yourself around and put that all behind you. You're...well,  
respectable now."  
  
"Ouch. That hurts even more."  
  
B'Elanna glared at him. "This isn't a joke, Tom. Tell me the  
truth. Tell me you're not at all apprehensive about talking to  
your father again."  
  
Tom tensed and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to reply.  
"I *have* been talking to him in letters. Besides, don't you  
think I'm a little too old to care what my father thinks?"  
  
Those letters between Tom and his father were cordial, even  
affectionate in moments, if one looked hard enough, but they  
contained no mention of the past. She knew this was different  
than writing letters. "You may not need his approval anymore,  
Tom, but you'll never be too old to want to mend your  
relationship with him. He's your father. You can't dismiss him,  
or pretend the state of that relationship doesn't affect you."  
B'Elanna smiled bitterly. "I know."  
  
Tom reached for her hand, but B'Elanna put her hands on her hips.  
"Tell you what, Tom. If you talk to your father, when it's my  
turn, I'll talk to my father."  
  
Tom stared at her for several moments, eyes narrowed, as if was  
trying to figure out the punch line. The only sound was Miral's  
hands slapping the bed where she'd pulled herself up, unaware of  
her parents' sudden silence. B'Elanna wondered with sudden dismay  
what the hell had possessed her to utter those words. Tom was  
already going to talk to his father, indifferent attitude or not.  
Her response to the one letter she'd received from her father had  
been barely cordial. Why would she want to actually talk to him  
after all this time when just writing that one letter had been so  
difficult?  
  
"Deal." Tom's eyes bored into hers as he spoke, as if daring her  
to change her mind. It made B'Elanna feel cornered, and she  
snarled, "Fine!"  
  
"Unless you really don't want to, B'Elanna."  
  
"Tom!" B'Elanna bit off a frustrated growl at her husband's  
earnest expression. She supposed there was some subconscious  
motivation behind her offer, some reason she wanted to repair her  
troubled relationship with her father too, even if he didn't  
deserve it. She sighed. "I want to, okay?"  
  
Tom grinned at her belligerent tone. When he reached for her  
hand, she let him pull her toward him, until she was standing  
between his legs. "When the time comes, *we'll* talk to your  
father, B'Elanna. Just like we'll talk to my mother and father."  
  
"Okay," B'Elanna agreed.  
  
"I'm sorry if I was dismissive. I do want you to meet my parents,  
B'Elanna."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "Just don't shut me out. We're in this together  
now."  
  
"I know. I wouldn't want it any other way. I promise I'll do  
better."  
  
"In that case I guess I'll forgive you." B'Elanna leaned down and  
touched her lips to his.  
  
"Dada!"  
  
Tom and B'Elanna turned to look at Miral, who was staring  
intently at B'Elanna's discarded uniform jacket. She had one hand  
on the bed to balance herself, and before either of her parents  
could say anything she let go and took three unsteady steps  
toward the jacket. Then she fell on the floor, close enough for  
her little hands to grab onto the shiny pips that had caught her  
attention.  
  
"Miral, you walked!"  
  
Tom's shout was nearly deafening as he hopped off the bed and  
scooped Miral into his arms. "You walked!" he repeated, looking  
with wonder at his daughter, who was grinning from ear to ear.  
"And you wanted us to see, didn't you?"  
  
B'Elanna wasn't sure about that. Or, maybe it was true. She  
smiled at Miral and kissed her cheek. "I'm proud of you too,  
sweetie." Then she noticed Tom's expression change at he stared  
down at his daughter. "What?"  
  
"It's just going so fast," Tom murmured, as he pressed his lips  
to Miral's forehead.  
  
B'Elanna understood what he meant. It seemed like Miral had just  
been a tiny baby in her arms, and now here she was starting to  
talk and walk. She sighed in agreement. "It is, but we're  
enjoying every minute, aren't we?"  
  
Tom smiled at B'Elanna's question. "Yes, we are. Come on, Miral,"  
he said. "It's time for your bath."  
  
Miral squealed with delight. There was nothing she liked better  
than splashing water all over the bathroom. B'Elanna watched Tom  
carry their daughter in that direction. "Tom..."  
  
He looked back. "Yeah?"  
  
"If you are even one minute late tomorrow, I'll break your nose."  
  
Tom grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am." He disappeared into the  
bathroom, though B'Elanna could still hear his words. "Mommy's  
almost as scary as Captain Janeway..."  
  
Smart-ass. She knew Tom would be on time tomorrow, threats or  
not. Once she wouldn't have counted on it, despite loving him,  
but he had changed. Even if he sometimes backslid--well, she'd  
had her moments too. She supposed the trick was that they kept  
working at it.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Act Four:  
  
"Lieutenant Paris, my ready room. Now."  
  
Captain Janeway spoke in her most authoritative voice, and headed  
straight for her ready room without detouring to the lower level  
of the bridge. She saw Tom's startled gaze and wide eyes as he  
glanced at Chakotay and then Kim. She was seated behind her desk  
by the time he entered, not dawdling, but not hurrying either,  
full of that natural Paris outward composure, something he had in  
common with his father.  
  
"Sit down, Mister Paris."  
  
Tom did as told, again at his own easy pace, though his brow was  
furrowed as if he was trying to figure out what he might have  
already done wrong so early in the morning.  
  
"I understand you will be talking to your family today,  
Lieutenant."  
  
Tom was silent for a moment, as if he hadn't understood her  
words. "Uh...yes."  
  
"Are you looking forward to it?"  
  
It was several seconds again before Tom spoke. "Captain, if  
you've decided you want to trade numbers, I don't think I can.  
Icheb and B'Elanna are both going to be there, and I wouldn't  
want to disappoint them. Not to mention, B'Elanna would kill me."  
  
"I don't want to trade with you, Lieutenant." Janeway leaned back  
in her chair, making herself comfortable. "I just thought it was  
far past time we had a personal chat." She rather enjoyed Tom's  
flustered expression. It wasn't easy to disconcert him, but it  
was worth it when she succeeded. "Relax, Tom."  
  
Tom didn't alter his posture. "Exactly what are we chatting  
about, Captain?"  
  
"Your father."  
  
"My...Captain--"  
  
"We've been on this ship together for almost eight years, Tom,  
and we've never had a *real* conversation about your father. Oh,  
you've mentioned him a few times, and I've brought up his name  
once or twice too. Yet we've shied away from talking in any depth  
about the man who's had a profound influence on both our lives.  
Why do you think that is?"  
  
"Because...we didn't want to?"  
  
Janeway smiled. Despite Tom's flippancy she suspected he was  
speaking the truth in his case. "As for my own reason, I think in  
the beginning I assumed our perspectives were too far apart to  
allow a meaningful conversation."  
  
"Or maybe you thought that I'd say something to tarnish your  
image of my father," Tom suggested, with less flippancy this  
time.  
  
"Or maybe I didn't want to intrude on your feelings, or devalue  
them," Janeway countered. "He was your father, after all, and  
though we knew the same man, we knew different aspects of him."  
Different enough that he could seem like two separate people at  
times. Janeway realized the irony, considering their visitors.  
"Still, I was once ready to invite you to dinner so we could talk  
seriously about your father. That was right after you told me how  
he squelched your childhood dream to join the Federation Naval  
Patrol. Then I never quite got around to it."  
  
"You mean, I blew it," Tom corrected with a rueful smile. "That's  
another thing we never talked about again."  
  
No, they hadn't. Janeway shrugged. "You served your sentence, and  
it was over."  
  
"Right." Tom looked at her curiously. "Permission to speak  
freely, Captain?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I've always wondered why you put me in the brig instead of  
confining me to quarters."  
  
Janeway was silent. Tom was an admiral's son, and he was familiar  
with Starfleet regulations. He was aware that she could have  
confined him to quarters for his actions, as she had with others  
who'd broken the rules. As she might have done then, if it had  
been anyone but him. He'd never asked her then why she didn't.  
"Several reasons. One was that I was very angry. I took your  
actions personally, which was probably wrong of me."  
  
"That's not an apology, Tom," she added at his startled look.  
"You deserved that punishment. You forced me to fire on your  
ship, and you threw my faith in you back in my face..." She  
didn't mention how deep that wound had felt at the time. "But I  
also saw a glimpse of the person I'd hoped you were becoming, and  
I wanted to force you back on the right path. Strangely enough,  
it was the fact that you broke the rules for something you  
believed in that was the deciding factor. Angry as I was, and  
much as I felt you'd betrayed my trust, that made me believe you  
still had a chance, *if* I was hard on you."  
  
Tom smiled wryly. "I guess it worked. I know I was wrong, and I  
regret that I compromised your faith in me, but when I was in the  
brig, I felt...well, good about myself, despite where I was. It  
was a turning point for me. When I wasn't going crazy."  
  
Janeway doubted Tom had any idea how hard his confinement had  
been for her. She'd gone to see him almost two weeks after she'd  
had him locked in the brig. By that time the doctor had dropped  
several not so subtle hints about the physical and psychological  
effects of solitary confinement, without actually championing  
Tom's release openly. When she'd looked in on Tom, he'd been  
asleep--not a relaxed sleep, but a restless sleep. He'd looked  
pale and tired. She had walked away quickly to stop herself from  
relenting and releasing him right then, but the next day she'd  
granted Harry's pending request to visit.  
  
"I even used the time to write my father a letter."  
  
Janeway looked at Tom. He'd never told her that, but why would  
he? "What did you say?"  
  
"I let him know I was in jail again, and why. I left it up to him  
to take it how he wanted."  
  
"Did you send it?" Janeway asked. Though Admiral Paris would have  
learned of Tom's infractions through the official logs, she was  
curious.  
  
"It went out with the first datastream transmission. I wasn't  
sure how he'd take it, but he's never mentioned it. I'm sure he  
didn't approve of what I did, but I guess he accepted my  
reasons."  
  
And perhaps accepted his son's independence, including the right  
to make, and pay for, his own mistakes. "I'm not surprised. Your  
father is a man with high standards, but I don't think they are  
unreasonable."  
  
Tom shrugged. "It didn't always feel that way when I was a kid.  
It seemed like nothing I did was quite good enough for him. I  
always could have done a little better, by his measure. He had  
his dreams for me, and he never asked me about mine. And after he  
came back from--uh, anyway..."  
  
Janeway could tell from Tom's flush what he'd been about to say.  
"After he was a prisoner of the Cardassians," she said.  
  
Tom nodded slowly. "He was different, which was to be expected.  
He never talked about his experience. All he was interested in  
was his work, and preparing me to follow in his footsteps. I was  
just starting high school. He made sure I took only courses  
geared to getting into the Academy, refused to let me join any  
extracurricular sports that weren't featured at the Academy,  
didn't talk to me for days if I got a B instead of an A on a  
test. Really, he didn't talk to me at all, except to tell me I  
wasn't doing good enough. I wanted him to talk to me, or at least  
listen to me."  
  
"Tom..." Janeway's voice was compassionate.  
  
Tom cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Captain. I shouldn't be  
telling you this. It had to be hard on my father, what happened  
to him. And to you. I shouldn't have brought it up--"  
  
"It's fine," she said, though it still hurt to remember that  
time. "It *was* hard on your father, not so much his own torture,  
but that he couldn't protect his crew. But you were only thirteen  
years old, Tom. He probably wanted to protect you from it. Even  
when he was pushing you to do more, he was always proud of you.  
He often said so."  
  
"He never told me so," Tom said softly. His voice turned harsh.  
"Then I made sure he couldn't after Caldik Prime."  
  
This was the first time Tom had ever said those two words in her  
presence. When she'd first heard about the incident she'd felt  
sorry for both Admiral Paris and his son. Later she'd heard about  
Tom's confession to lying, and she'd been angry that the admiral  
had been saddled with such a son, after all he'd already gone  
through. She'd figured Tom Paris had no right to any sympathy,  
and that he deserved to suffer every bit of guilt and shame he  
hopefully felt. She hadn't considered his life or anything that  
might have led to his actions--both lying and then freely  
confessing. But years later, when she'd asked Admiral Hayes to  
assign Tom Paris to Voyager as an observer, she'd done it because  
she'd hoped he could start to redeem himself. Admittedly, she'd  
acted originally for the benefit of his father, but it was Tom's  
well being that soon had become her priority.  
  
Tom sighed. "I've come to realize that however much I blamed my  
father for the pressure he put me under, my actions were my own  
choice. He didn't make me lie, or join the Maquis."  
  
"That's true," Janeway said. "But you've changed, Tom. You've  
earned my faith back and more, and you've reached the potential I  
always hoped was there. What's more, your father knows you've  
reached that potential--not his, but your own. He's changed too,  
you know."  
  
Tom nodded. "I know. I just hope it's enough."  
  
"You can't erase the past, Tom. But you and your father can move  
on, if you both want to, and from what I've seen you both do."  
The letters she'd received from Owen Paris had left her with no  
doubt about his feelings. He was deeply grateful for a second  
chance with his son. "This is just another step in the healing  
process."  
  
Tom gave her an odd look. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Good. I think we're done..." Janeway noticed Tom's lips  
twitching. "Something amusing you, Tom?"  
  
"Uh, no..."  
  
"Out with it, Mister Paris."  
  
"I was just thinking that the doctor knew what he was doing when  
he made Captain Fayray a Betazoid."  
  
Janeway scowled at his impish grin. "Not funny. Get back to your  
post, Lieutenant."  
  
Tom wiped the smile off his face as he stood. "Yes, ma'am." He  
strode to the door in that studied stride, then stopped as it  
opened and looked back at her. "Captain..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Tom was out the door before she could reply. She shook her head,  
trying to keep from smiling. A Betazoid. Fat chance. She was  
lucky if she could read her own mind half the time, though she  
knew that wasn't what Tom had meant.  
  
She had only told Tom the truth. He had succeeded in redeeming  
himself, more than she might have thought possible at one time.  
As much as he'd changed, so had Owen Paris. She'd known Admiral  
Paris had never abused his son in any way, but he had heaped his  
own expectations on Tom, and had demanded his son be someone he  
wasn't instead of allowing Tom to be himself.  
  
Janeway knew Tom would never be an admiral like his father, not  
because he lacked the ability, but because such a bureaucratic  
job would stifle him. He loved to fly, he was a fine field medic,  
and he had enough imagination and holoprogramming skill to rival  
the doctor as a holonovelist if he so chose--though god knew she  
didn't want two of them on her ship right now. She hoped Owen  
Paris would see his son's real gifts, and would rejoice that Tom  
had found true contentment with his life--not just with his work,  
but with his wife and child. No medal or admiralship could  
compare to that accomplishment.  
  
"Chakotay to Janeway."  
  
Janeway touched her commbadge. "Yes, Commander."  
  
"Captain Naseev is hailing us. He would like to relay the  
council's decision to you."  
  
"On my way."  
  
Janeway strode to the bridge, hoping the answer would be the one  
she expected.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
"How do I look?" the doctor asked.  
  
Tuvok simply raised an eyebrow, while Janeway stared at the  
brilliantly colored robes the doctor had donned. "I think you'll  
pass inspection, Doc--uh, trader."  
  
Metaar didn't appear to notice Janeway's slip, or if she did, she  
didn't attach any importance to it. "Your attire is quite  
appropriate," she told the doctor. Then she turned to Janeway.  
"Thank you for your hospitality."  
  
"You are welcome, Metaar. It has been a pleasure having you here,  
as well as Lizaat, Deliin and Tineel. I hope we've left you with  
a good impression."  
  
"Your close association with a complex being like the EH reflects  
highly upon your crew, Captain."  
  
"Thank you," Janeway replied smoothly, though Tuvok recognized  
the slightly sardonic inflection in her voice. The doctor  
surprisingly didn't gloat at Metaar's words, perhaps because he  
was preoccupied with his impending visit. He had assured the  
captain he was prepared for the negotiations, and had received a  
list of items to be requested and bartered from Mister Neelix and  
Lieutenant Torres. Yet Tuvok suspected the doctor's preoccupation  
was a result of his interest in the Shaal'ra people and culture.  
He understood and applauded the doctor's desire for knowledge.  
  
"Once the trade is finalized, the Liduun will move into position  
to exchange goods via transporter."  
  
The Liduun was already approaching and Tuvok had placed the ship  
on constant monitor status. He expected no aggression or deceit  
from the Shaal'ra, but it was his duty to take every precaution.  
  
"We'll be ready," Janeway said.  
  
"Shouldn't we get going?" the doctor asked, not hiding his  
impatience.  
  
"Have a good trip, Doctor," Janeway said as he and Metaar stepped  
on the transporter platform. Tuvok initiated the transport  
sequence and a moment later the two disappeared.  
  
Janeway sighed, perhaps in relief. "If all goes well, we should  
be on our way soon with a full supply of fresh food. And we'll  
have the doctor to thank for it."  
  
"Indeed, though his accomplishment today does not compare with  
the feats of his holonovel protagonist."  
  
Janeway smiled at Tuvok's dry tone. "No, I suppose not."  
  
Tuvok followed her out of the transporter room. "Captain, I am  
curious. You seem to be taking this situation more calmly than  
would be expected."  
  
Janeway stopped and stared at her security chief. "Am I generally  
hysterical, Tuvok?"  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow rose. "No, Captain. However you are not always  
adept at suppressing your feelings. I intend no offense."  
  
Janeway resumed walking. "None taken."  
  
"You often have little patience with the doctor's egotism, and  
the Shaal'ra continue to greatly inflate the doctor's value to  
Voyager based on his holonovel."  
  
She smiled wryly. "I've swallowed my pride before when dealing  
with the cultural biases of alien races. I can't blame the doctor  
for that, and his holonovel is the reason he's over there right  
now securing needed supplies. I've also begun to realize that  
I've probably helped fuel the doctor's need to boost his ego  
constantly. I've never really treated him as a person. I  
reprogrammed him once without his knowledge or permission, and I  
absolved him of responsibility for deserting to the hologram ship  
when any other crew member would have been in the brig for months  
for the same infractions."  
  
"You regretted your first action," Tuvok noted.  
  
"And more or less repeated my bad judgment in the second." Tuvok  
didn't refute that, and Janeway shook her head. "Here I am  
expecting Starfleet to grant him sentient status, and by my own  
actions I've never done so myself. Now I'm wondering how much my  
actions might hurt his cause."  
  
"I trust Starfleet will make a decision based on all the facts,  
Captain. Most sentient beings have an inborn prejudice for their  
nature over any different nature, which leads to  
shortsightedness. For the Shaal'ra it is single-identity beings,  
and for you it has been the holographic nature of the doctor.  
With experience and effort one can learn to overcome such  
prejudices."  
  
Janeway nodded, then looked at Tuvok. "I suppose the Vulcans  
don't have such prejudices, given the IDIC philosophy."  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow rose. "We overcame them." He elected not to  
volunteer how recently Vulcans had achieved a true adherence to  
IDIC.  
  
"Join me for lunch?" Janeway asked as they stopped in front the  
turbolift.  
  
"Thank you, Captain, but I am scheduled to speak to my family  
over the FTL link at fourteen thirty-four hours. I wish to  
prepare."  
  
Janeway gave him a genuinely pleased smile. "I understand." She  
touched his arm briefly, then stepped into the turbolift. "Give  
T'Pel my regards."  
  
"I will do so, Captain." Tuvok watched the turbolift doors close,  
and moved down the corridor. As usual he had many matters to  
contemplate, from status reports, to security upgrades, to the  
phaser bank refit. Yet he was finding it difficult to concentrate  
today. Vulcans were not impatient, but Tuvok found the  
anticipation of speaking with T'Pel and their children was  
inhibiting his logical thought processes. His current state was  
perilously close to an emotional reaction and he knew he should  
immediately meditate to reassert his Vulcan mental disciplines.  
  
After a moment's consideration he decided against it. This once,  
he would allow this small, pleasant feeling of anticipation to  
remain inside him. No one else need ever know.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Tom strode toward the briefing room, trying to will away his  
memories. Though he didn't want to, he couldn't stop himself from  
recalling the last words he and his father had spoken directly to  
each other, when he was being led away from court to be  
transported to New Zealand. His mother and father and been in the  
hallway, his mother in tears. He couldn't bring himself to look  
at her. Instead he'd looked at his father, who had looked back,  
his expression rigid and forbidding.  
  
For one desperate moment, Tom had wanted to throw himself at his  
father and beg for forgiveness. He'd wanted his father to take  
him in his arms and tell him that it would be okay, and that he  
still loved him. Then his father had spoken.  
  
"You've made your choice, Thomas. You've worn out your welcome as  
my son."  
  
Tom had smirked, and in one last gesture of defiance he said in a  
mocking voice, "Go to hell...*Dad*."  
  
He'd thought he heard his mother call his name as he walked away,  
but he couldn't be sure through the sudden dizziness that made  
his head swim. He'd stumbled and one of the guards escorting him  
had roughly steadied him. At that moment he'd known with  
certainty that it was all gone. His life, his future, his  
family...  
  
Even after all these years, recalling the intensity of that  
exchange and the harsh finality of their words to each other made  
Tom break out in a sweat. He swallowed as he approached the  
briefing room. He was the first to arrive. The fact almost made  
him smile, when he thought of the unlikelihood. Almost, but not  
quite.  
  
"Hey, Tom."  
  
Harry strode toward him, grinning. "You're early."  
  
Tom shrugged. "I figured I could do it once in my life. So, you  
okay doing this, Harry?"  
  
"Wha--oh, sure. I'm eager to talk to my parents, but it's fun to  
see everyone so happy after seeing their families."  
  
At that moment Icheb appeared, carrying Miral. "B'Elanna asked me  
to get Miral. She got detained in Engineering, but she promised  
to be here on time."  
  
Tom wondered why B'Elanna hadn't called him. She'd probably  
worried he'd end up being late. He smiled at his daughter, who  
was squirming in Icheb's arms. Seeing her always gladdened his  
heart, and reminded him of how much he truly had. "Hey, angel."  
  
Miral responded with an enthusiastic "Dada!" as Tom took her from  
Icheb. Then he patted Icheb's shoulder. "No need to look so  
nervous."  
  
"I am not nervous," Icheb said.  
  
Right. Maybe it was just him. "You won't have to say much. Mom  
will do most of the talking," Tom assured Icheb.  
  
"Tom's told me his mother is the kind of person who includes  
everyone," B'Elanna said as she joined them. She straightened the  
strap of Miral's red jumper, and kissed her cheek.  
  
"Glad you made it," Tom said softly.  
  
"There was no chance I'd miss it," B'Elanna said, slipping her  
arm through his.  
  
The door to the briefing room opened and Tuvok walked out, his  
expression imperturbable as ever. "How is your family, Tuvok?"  
Harry asked.  
  
"They are well."  
  
"I'm sure they were happy to talk to you," Tom said.  
  
"They were...pleased. As was I to speak with them."  
  
Was that the barest hint of emotion he heard in Tuvok's voice?  
Tom smiled. "I'm glad it went well."  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow rose. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I wish you equal  
success."  
  
Tom hoped so too as he followed Harry, B'Elanna and Icheb into  
the briefing room. While they took seats at the table, Harry  
moved to the console. Tom let Miral sit on the table, putting his  
hands around her to keep her from wandering.  
  
"Okay, I'll back in five minutes," Harry said from behind them.  
Tom felt Harry's hand squeeze his shoulder briefly. "Enjoy."  
  
Tom busied himself for a moment pulling Miral back as she tried  
to crawl away. When he looked up, his parents were on the screen.  
  
"Tom."  
  
Tom immediately met his mother's gaze. She was smiling, her blue  
eyes glistening.  
  
"You look wonderful."  
  
The last time she'd seen him, in that corridor as he was being  
led away to prison, he knew he'd looked drained and defeated, as  
if he'd thrown his soul away. That's how he'd felt. Her tears  
then had been tears of sorrow. She had tears in her eyes now, but  
they were tears of joy. Tom's eyes grew damp as he realized how  
desperately he'd missed her, not just since he'd been on Voyager  
but during all those years before when he'd refused to come home.  
He felt B'Elanna's hand close over his.  
  
"Hi, Mom," he said softly. "You look wonderful too."  
  
She did. She looked the same as he remembered her. "You must be  
Miral," she said, as Miral stared back at her in fascination. "I  
can't wait to hold you." She glanced up at Tom, her smile  
tremulous. "She's beautiful. And I can see why."  
  
Alicia Paris transferred her gaze to B'Elanna, her regard warm.  
"You're as lovely as Tom said you were. Tom got his good taste  
from me. Welcome to the family."  
  
"Yes, welcome, B'Elanna," Owen Paris added, speaking for the  
first time. "And you too, Icheb. Alicia and I have looked forward  
to meeting you both."  
  
B'Elanna smiled as Icheb said, "It's good to meet you, sir. And  
ma'am."  
  
Tom knew his mother would put a stop to that form of address  
soon.  
  
"And welcome to you, Miral."  
  
Tom couldn't avoid it any longer. He looked at his father. Owen  
Paris was smiling gently at his granddaughter. "Look, Alicia," he  
said. "She has her father's eyes." Then he looked up.  
  
Tom and his father stared at each other silently, and warily, at  
least on Tom's part. It seemed like all the moments, good and  
bad, and all the words they'd ever said to each other were right  
there between them. The tension was palpable and even Miral  
lapsed into stillness. Moments passed, while Tom noticed that his  
father looked older, and not as invincible as he'd always seemed.  
His gaze was softer, his posture more relaxed.  
  
"Hello, son."  
  
His father spoke first. Then he smiled, a genuine smile, and  
there was no censure in his gaze, no disappointment or disgust,  
as there had been nine years ago. There was only happiness and  
pride.  
  
Tom realized his father hadn't addressed him as "Lieutenant" or  
"Thomas" or even "Tom," but as "son." The fear he'd denied, that  
the past would shadow this reunion, that his father would still  
be unable to completely forgive all that had gone between them  
before--that *he* would be unable to forgive it--Tom realized it  
was unfounded. Suddenly it was as if the past had never happened-  
-or as if it had, but it didn't matter anymore. They were still  
father and son, and always would be, no matter what.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw Icheb's smile, and he felt  
B'Elanna squeeze his hand harder while Miral grasped a handful of  
his shirt, trying to get his attention. His lips curved slowly as  
he returned his father's smile. Then he spoke the words he hadn't  
said in nine years, and hadn't spoken without anger, or guilt, or  
disdain for even longer--words that now seemed inordinately  
precious to him.  
  
"Hey, Dad."  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Janeway pressed her commbadge. "Transporter room?"  
  
The reply was immediate. //The doctor is on board.//  
  
"Very good, Ensign. Tell him I'm very eager to read his final  
report."  
  
//I will, Captain.//  
  
"I guess that's it," Chakotay said as Janeway closed the link.  
"The doctor is back, and we're on our way out of Shaal'ra space."  
  
The doctor had been gone almost twenty-four hours. Though the  
trade negotiations had been successfully completed in a few  
hours, he had asked to remain on the Maruuk until Voyager reached  
the border of Shaal'ra space, where they were right now. Janeway  
had gladly granted his request, happy to let him continue as  
ambassador to the Shaal'ra.  
  
In the meantime B'Elanna and Neelix had supervised the successful  
transfer of trade goods between the Liduun and Voyager. The  
vacuum-sealed storeroom next to the kitchen was now filled to the  
brim with fresh fruits and vegetables.  
  
"Captain, we are being hailed by the Maruuk."  
  
Janeway nodded to Tuvok. "Put it on the screen."  
  
Captain Vatiik, another one of the Maruuk's four captains,  
appeared. She held out her hands, palms up, in the Shaal'ra  
manner of greeting. "Captain Janeway, your ship is clear to  
travel alone from here."  
  
"Thank you, Captain Vatiik. We appreciate your escort, and your  
hospitality to our trader."  
  
"You are welcome, Captain Janeway. I am told the ETH is a  
persuasive bargainer. The ECH is also a remarkable captain. We  
had a most interesting exchange of ideas."  
  
Janeway knew the doctor had switched "identities" frequently  
aboard the Maruuk to facilitate his interactions with the  
Shaal'ra. During one of his updates he'd wondered out loud why he  
hadn't tried it before. She'd decided immediately that a talk  
about his singular role as CMO would be in order upon his return.  
"I'm glad you found his presence agreeable," she said.  
  
"We regret he could not spend more time here," Captain Vatiik  
replied. "We must depart now. I wish you a good journey to your  
home. Should you or other members of your Federation pass this  
way again, the Maruuk would be pleased to escort you through our  
space."  
  
Janeway figured "pleased" was a definite improvement over the  
reluctant willingness they'd originally shown. Perhaps one day  
the Federation would count the Shaal'ra as allies. "We appreciate  
your offer. A good journey to you also."  
  
Captain Vatiik's image disappeared from the screen, and a few  
moments later the Maruuk moved away. Janeway addressed the helm.  
"Mister Paris, lay in our course, warp seven."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Harry Kim spoke. "Looks like the  
doctor made himself pretty popular with the Shaal'ra."  
  
"To the benefit of our diet," Tom replied, grinning.  
  
"And to the benefit of possible future relations," Chakotay  
added.  
  
"The doctor may not be a hero for the times, but he's a hero this  
time in my book," Tom said.  
  
Harry snorted. "Do you ever think about anything but your  
stomach, Tom?"  
  
"Sure, when I'm full."  
  
"I think the doctor would settle for just being considered a  
person," Chakotay said.  
  
"It is unfortunate the Federation legal code is insufficient in  
recognizing the full range of sentience," Tuvok said.  
  
"It is unfair," Harry agreed. "But I'm not all that sorry his  
holonovel got rejected."  
  
"Come on, Harry," Tom said. "It has potential. It could spawn a  
whole series. Don't you want to be twice famous?"  
  
"Nope. Once famous is enough for me."  
  
"If I can handle being confused with Don London, you can handle  
being confused with Derry Whim."  
  
"But could you handle being confused with Fayray?" Chakotay asked  
Janeway in a low voice as she watched her young officers  
bantering back and forth.  
  
"I could probably live it down," Janeway said. "But it's a moot  
point."  
  
"Maybe not. The doctor could always get it published once he is  
granted sentient status. Or even before."  
  
Janeway stared at Chakotay. "Before?"  
  
"Two members of the crew came up with the idea of having someone  
on Voyager sign the contract with the doctor, to make it legal.  
They started gathering signatures yesterday in support of the  
idea."  
  
"Signatures?" Janeway wondered why she hadn't heard about this.  
"How many?"  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "Half the crew at least, probably more. They  
didn't approach you because they didn't want to compromise your  
position."  
  
"Compromise..." Janeway frowned. "Who came up with this idea?"  
Her eyes narrowed on Chakotay. "You?"  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "Not me. Your morale officer."  
  
Janeway wasn't surprised. Neelix was a bleeding heart.  
  
"And..." Chakotay nodded toward the helm, where Tom was still  
engaged in a conversation with Harry.  
  
"Our Voyager fame might wear off some day," Tom was saying.  
"Don't you want some back up notoriety?"  
  
Harry snorted.  
  
"It would add a little mystery to your image, Har."  
  
Tom Paris. Despite their often adversarial relationship, Tom and  
the doctor had a lot in common. And they were genuinely fond of  
each other, even if it took a nanoscope to see it. Janeway  
supposed it made sense.  
  
"Chakotay, you have the conn," Janeway said as she rose. "Mister  
Paris, once you've finalized the course calculations, have Ensign  
Culhane relieve you so you can report to Sickbay. I'm sure the  
doctor would like to know what's been happening while he's been  
gone."  
  
Tom looked surprised, probably because as acting CMO he'd barely  
stepped foot in Sickbay over the past twenty-four hours, but he  
nodded. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
"And stop by my ready room on the way."  
  
Janeway didn't wait for his acknowledgment before she strode to  
her ready room and sat down behind her desk. A pile of status  
reports awaited her review. She ignored them in favor of a few  
seconds of satisfied reflection. Voyager was back on course with  
a full larder, they'd left another alien race with a reasonably  
good impression, they'd established direct contact with Starfleet  
and with their families for the first time, Joe and B'Elanna were  
almost ready to give the go ahead for the next slipstream jump,  
and the doctor had stretched his limits again--even if the result  
was a sensationalistic holonovel.  
  
Oh, and the carpets were clean. It had been a very successful few  
days. In fact, there wasn't much left to accomplish at the  
moment. Except that white glove inspection she'd promised her  
first officer.  
  
Janeway smiled as she picked up one of the dataPADDs on her desk.  
She decided she'd schedule that inspection with Chakotay tonight.  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
  
Epilogue:  
  
"Hey, Doc! You here?"  
  
The doctor glanced up from his console and saw Lieutenant Paris  
headed his way, looking pretty pleased with himself. He returned  
his attention to his console.  
  
"Ah, here you are."  
  
"Yes, who would have thought?" the doctor asked sardonically, as  
Paris entered his office.  
  
Tom's complacent smile didn't diminish. "The captain sent me to  
brief you on the status of Sickbay while you were gone."  
  
As far as the doctor could tell, everything looked exactly the  
same as it had when he'd left. "Was there an emergency?"  
  
"Nope. Not even one patient. The crew is disgustingly healthy."  
  
"I suppose that's not surprising, considering their doctor."  
  
Tom grinned again. "Nice to know you came back with your usual  
humility intact, Doc. How was your trip, anyway?"  
  
"I successfully negotiated a trade for a large quantity of fresh  
foodstuffs--"  
  
"Yeah, I think Neelix is going to build a fruit centerpiece in  
your image."  
  
The doctor ignored that. "And I spent the rest of my time  
learning more about the Shaal'ra. They are an engaging race. They  
allowed me to do medical scans on several of the crew." He  
motioned to his console monitor, his voice rising with  
enthusiasm. "Their metabolism is amazing, and the rate of their  
cell regeneration is beyond that of any species I've ever  
encountered. Now I understand why their bodies require no sleep.  
I also have scans of their brain structure. When one identity is  
active, the others are completely quiescent. That part of the  
brain 'rests' as it were. It's like nothing I've ever seen. It  
could lead to some very valuable research."  
  
"I bet," Tom said. He shook his head. "I still can't imagine  
sharing my body with three or four other people. Or how weird it  
would be if Miral had several other fathers."  
  
"If you were Shaal'ra, Miral would only be one identity. You'd be  
her father, and the other identities would have their fathers."  
The doctor had observed Deliin and Tineel with their respective  
children. He still didn't completely understand what alerted  
their bodies to switch identities in exact synchronization with  
each other, but it seemed to work that way, within family groups  
anyway. It was something he looked forward to research.  
  
"I guess so," Tom replied. "But who gets to see her walk first?  
Or talk first?" He waved his hand as the doctor opened his mouth  
to explain again. "Never mind. To be honest, Doc, I wouldn't want  
to have the use of my body only a few hours a day, or share  
B'Elanna and Miral--mind or body--with anyone else. Maybe it's  
selfish of me, but I'm glad it's just the three of us."  
  
"Not at all, Mister Paris. It's human." The doctor had no desire  
to share his holomatrix with other identities, despite his  
admiration for the Shaal'ra. "By the way, how was your talk with  
your family?"  
  
Tom looked surprised at the question. He shrugged. "Fine."  
  
"I take it 'fine' means successful," the doctor said.  
  
"My parents were very happy to meet B'Elanna and Icheb. And they  
adored Miral."  
  
Why wouldn't they? She was a bright, lively, happy child. "What  
about you and your father?" the doctor asked.  
  
"We talked." Tom paused for a moment, and then he smiled. "It  
went...well. Very well."  
  
"That's really no surprise, Lieutenant. Whatever happened between  
you before, you're family. I believe you once explained to me  
what that means--to share a history, to endure hardships and come  
through on the other side, still together."  
  
Tom nodded. "I remember. I guess I was more right than I  
thought."  
  
"I suppose the law of averages had to fall in your favor at some  
point, Lieutenant."  
  
Tom grinned, not rising to the bait. "Hey, Doc, about your  
holonovel--"  
  
"I've decided to delete it."  
  
"What?! Doc, you can't do that!"  
  
The doctor stared at Tom, startled by his fervor. "Why not? You  
didn't like it. And aren't you the one who told me the characters  
were too similar to the Voyager crew?"  
  
"That was constructive criticism. And I never said I didn't like  
it, exactly. I also told you it had the makings of a bestseller."  
  
"Not if it isn't published," the doctor said dryly. "In any case,  
I'm starting a new holonovel, a serious work based on an issue of  
unprecedented importance."  
  
Tom frowned. "What issue?"  
  
"The repression of holograms. I plan to show the public just how  
unjustly photonic beings have been treated by the Federation. I'm  
thinking of calling it 'Up from Bondage.'"  
  
"Sounds, uh, provocative. But that doesn't mean you have to  
abandon 'Hero for the Times' in the process."  
  
"I have something more important to do, something less frivolous-  
-"  
  
"Frivolous?" Tom shook his head. "Light-hearted, maybe. But you  
said yourself there is an underlying message about holograms. Why  
pass up this opportunity to get public sentiment on your side?"  
  
"Perhaps you've forgotten again that I can't get it published,  
Lieutenant."  
  
"You can't sign a contract, but I can sign one."  
  
The doctor stared at Tom with disbelief. "Are you suggesting I  
publish the holonovel under *your* name?"  
  
"No. It would still be published under the pseudonym Emerson  
Holmes. I'll just sign the contract as...the co-writer."  
  
"Co-writer?!"  
  
"Okay, editor."  
  
"Mister Paris, I don't think--" the doctor stopped as Tom held  
out a dataPADD. He took it and read the words on the screen. It  
was a petition supporting the publication of his holonovel. He  
scrolled though the names, starting with Neelix and Tom Paris,  
and saw Chakotay's name, B'Elanna Torres, Tuvok, Harry Kim, both  
Delaney sisters, and probably three-quarters of the crew. The  
final name was Captain Kathryn Janeway.  
  
"The crew wants you to have this opportunity, Doctor."  
  
"They do?" The doctor felt a tug in his emotional subroutines. He  
was genuinely touched. Then he looked up at Tom. "And you said  
the crew wouldn't like my holonovel."  
  
Tom cleared his throat. "Right. Anyway, what do you say, Doc?"  
  
"I suppose if you're willing to sign as *editor* only..."  
  
"Great!" Tom grinned. "Since it's quiet in Sickbay, maybe we  
should take a quick look at your holonovel, and see where it  
could use a little editing."  
  
"Very little editing," the doctor warned as he rose. He wondered  
what he was getting into as he walked through Sickbay with Tom  
Paris. "Just remember, the final decisions are *mine.*"  
  
"Of course. I do have a few ideas for one of the characters."  
  
"Don't tell me. Don London."  
  
"Every great hero needs a brave and dependable sidekick."  
  
The doctor rolled his eyes.  
  
"Every great ship also needs a quick, maneuverable shuttlecraft  
to divert the enemy when necessary, and to help form a two-flank  
attack, not to mention for the occasional romantic rendezvous.  
Maybe something like the Delta Flyer?"  
  
The doctor pursed his lips. That idea did have some merit. "I  
suppose you expect Don London to fly it."  
  
"Only when the EPH is busy saving the Valorous."  
  
"I'll have to think about that," the doctor said. He didn't  
intend to let Mister Paris have his way too often.  
  
"Just think, this could become a whole series of holoadventures,  
Doc! The amazing EH and his intrepid crew..."  
  
The doctor considered that as they entered the turbolift. He  
supposed he could be a popular holonovelist and still write his  
serious opus, along with being a doctor, musician, political  
activist, and whatever else he wanted. He was a hologram after  
all.  
  
"How about the Proton Flyer," Tom suggested as the turbolift  
doors started to close.  
  
The doctor snorted. "Perhaps the Photon Flyer--"  
  
^*^*^*^*^  
Next: Because of Real Life, the next story is: Fill the Loving Cup" Meanwhile   
back on New Pozjan. (You do remember New Pozjan...) 


End file.
